Harry Potter and the Revenant Paragon
by Fireglass
Summary: -Harry Potter jerked his head from his hands, emerging from a dream which had really been more of a vision, and wondering, blankly, why he could never find a moment's peace anymore.- Sequel to The Hourglass Permanent Hiatus
1. The Vanishing Door

_Author's Notes: And here you have it, the sequel to Three Turns Of The Hourglass! If you are not familiar with Three Turns Of The Hourglass, my short fanfiction detailing the end of The Order Of The Phoenix, with several large alterations, I suggest you read it, otherwise I doubt this renovition of the sixth Harry Potter book will be of much sense to you._

_As always, I ask that you please review. I would very much like to know who, if anyone, is enjoying my story and how I can improve. Thank you and please, enjoy!_

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Chapter I: The Vanishing Door

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It is not often that one dreams while awake. Commonly, some manner of sleepiness must be involved for one to lapse over into the realm of ethereal visions. Certainly there is the less-rewarding standard of daydreaming, which one might argue to be much more gratifying in means of controlling ones thoughts and therefore channeling the dream, but regardless the fact remains that it is very unusual for one to dream while still being tightly tied to the waking world.

But on this, a particularly cold day in June—the coldest summer day on record in Surrey, and a bone of contention for the residents of Privet Drive—Harry Potter jerked his head from his hands, emerging from a dream which had really been more of a vision, and wondering, blankly, why he could never find a moment's peace anymore.

Harry was a tall boy, slightly lanky, with dark hair that was perpetually untidy, vivid green eyes that seemed almost permanently grayed by lack of sleep and were hidden by thick-framed spectacles that seemed to have been broken then mended several times, and a scar on his forehead in the shape of a single lightning bolt. This, more than anything—more than his pale complexion or his over-large shirt or his baggy jeans or his shredded trainers—was what set Harry Potter apart from most other people…it made him special, even in the secret world that he was privileged to be a part of.

For you see, Harry Potter was a wizard; a wizard of extraordinary sorts, and one who was currently tallying on his calendar the fifth night in a row that he had not slept in a single week.

Night had bloomed beyond Harry's window, the pale full moon casting a dull sheen across his disarranged room on the upper floor of Number Four, Privet Drive. Standing with his shoulders pressed into the wall, a pen—he did not waste expensive ink on marking the days down on his calendar—dangling limply from his fingers, he gazed around at the floor, besmirched by ancient ink stains, scattered spell-books, robes, owl feathers, useless parchment pieces that were overflowing from his wastebasket, and several quills that he had, by mistake, broken with his shaking hands while attempting to pen letters to his closest friends.

Now Harry…moving like a sleepwalker…approached his desk, and fell heavily into the straight-backed, uncomfortable wooden chair beside it, flicking on the dim light and staring down at the beginnings of the letter that he had been worrying over for an hour before attempting, unsuccessfully, to sleep. He wasn't at all certain what to do with himself anymore, seeing as how he was now faced will a full night and day in relative solitude, repeatedly. He had no one to talk to about this troubling sleeplessness; his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, would just as soon he suffered rather than offer solutions, and Dudley, Harry's overweight and rather mean cousin, would likely make some jab along the lines of, " You're a wizard, aren't you, you freak? Why don't you just jinx yourself to sleep? Oh, wait, you can't, because then you'll be expelled from that dumb school of yours!"

Harry was grudgingly forced to admit that Dudley was right, though privately he thought that, if this pattern of empty nights and visions while waking continued, he wouldn't be worth much on his return to school anyways.

And Harry _did _want to go back to school, quite unlike most children of his age, because in truth Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was the closest thing to a real home he had ever had. Certainly the Dursleys gave him shelter, but to Harry's heart, which had always longed for a feeling of something more than being just a burden, Number Four Privet Drive was no more his home than were the trashcans outside.

And in this darkest of dark nights, in this time when everything in his world seemed to be upside-down and inside-out, he felt certain that Hogwarts would be something of a sanctuary.

Rubbing his aching, tired eyes, Harry gazed down at his letter as though hoping it would magically write itself. He scanned through the feeble paragraph he had already written…and considered adding this scrap of parchment to the excessive heap already crowding his wastebasket.

He had been trying to pen this letter for close to a month, but somehow it never seemed to come out right. He could never describe in full detail the dreams that had haunted him for three weeks until, finally, his mind shut down all together, and the sleeplessness began. He could never aptly articulate the truth of what he saw when he had the visions, or where he mind wandered if given the chance. He could not find the words to say how desolate he felt, locked in this prison of a house, cut off from the world he missed and the friends he loved so much…

But Harry was just as afraid to write to them as he was to maintain this lasting pause in communication. Because he knew he couldn't write to his best friend, Ron Weasley…the last time they had seen each other, after walking for hours in the barren countryside together, Ron had seemed like a conscious sleepwalker, and he hadn't said a word when they had separated at the King's Cross station…Harry feared greatly that Ron would not reply to his letters. And Harry felt far too ashamed to write to his godfather, Sirius Black…not because Sirius wouldn't write back, because Sirius always, always did, but because Harry knew that there would be something, some hint of the distance he felt inside of him, hidden in any reply letter, and because Harry knew he had betrayed Sirius's trust in him during their last meeting by acting like a child who refused to be comforted.

And so that left Hermione…Hermione Granger, his other best friend, and the most brilliant witch Harry had ever met. And it was to her that he had been trying, and failing, to write, for nearly a month…and he failed miserably because he hadn't even stopped to say goodbye to her when he left the Hogwarts Express—the utterly ruined scarlet steam-engine—and Hermione behind him, dragging the bodies of their unconscious friends from the remains of the carriage that had sheltered them all.

Harry had to admit, if only to himself, that he was afraid Hermione would be angry with him for leaving her behind. And he didn't want to put any more distance between himself and his friends…not when it seemed that Hermione was the last one he could count on.

But there might have been another person to write to…one more magical somebody that Harry thought might have had an answer, someone who he had begun to trust implicitly during his most recent year at Hogwarts. He thought that maybe she would have some idea, because there was a bond linking them together that went deeper than friendship; it was understanding, the understanding of the manipulated and the used, the remorseful who were trying to make things right. And with his strange dreams bringing the fear that he was being toyed with by the enemy again, Harry desperately, desperately wanted to write to her.

But he couldn't, because Ginny Weasley was currently in the hands of the Death Eaters, Dark Wizards of great strength and number, her whereabouts unknown, her status unknown, likely under the supreme strain of torture at the hands of the Darkest wizard that had ever risen to higher power; Lord Voldemort.

Harry's elbows descended onto the desktop with a _bang_, and he buried his face in his hands.

It was the Ginny's kidnapping that had been driving him mad all summer; he could still remember that day, clear as though he was seeing it all happening over again, whenever he allowed his idle mind to wander. And no matter what consolatory words were spoken, he knew that it was his fault; because he had dragged her with him into the past, to make right a wrong that would have devastated his life, and because Voldemort thought that Ginny had some power above and beyond what was normal for a witch of her age. Or maybe he didn't…maybe he was going to use Ginny for a bargaining chip against Harry. Voldemort would know who Harry was close to…

For three endless, tortured weeks, and for five endless, tortured days _and _nights after that, Harry had wondered if he would change what he had done, if given the chance. But it was a terrible line to walk…on the one hand, Ginny, innocent and brave, and on the other, Sirius, the one person who he would have gone to any lengths to save. It was a dreadful choice to make, and some part of Harry was glad, whatever the consequences, that the task of choosing was behind him now. Because he did not feel at all decisive now…not after the events of three days before that had added a whole new aspect to the sorry mess.

It had been the second day that Harry had gone without sleeping; he had descended the stairs, into the kitchen, his appetite absent but his need for food still strong as ever, and he had found the Dursleys all seated around the table, eating in silence and not paying him any mind whatsoever.

That was not meant to last, however; the moment Harry had retrieved a cereal bowl from the cupboard, Aunt Petunia had glanced up at him, her horsy face twisted with rebuke, as she surveyed the dark circles under his eyes, his listless movements, his vacant expression.

" What's the matter with _you_?" She had demanded snappishly, as though it was a sin for Harry to feel _anything. _Without replying Harry had flung himself down at the table and proceeded to pour himself a bowl of cereal, ignoring Dudley, who, by the look of it, was already well into his third bowl.

" Answer your aunt when she speaks to you!" Uncle Vernon had ordered tersely. Harry had thought that perhaps his essentially dim-witted uncle had somehow realized that Harry had lost almost all contact with the wizarding world, and that such knowledge had made him bolder; whatever the case, Uncle Vernon had gone back to treating Harry like the scum of the earth in recent weeks. Only by a massive exertion of effort had Harry been able to control the anger frothing inside of him.

" Nothing's the matter with me." He had stated dully, stirring his cereal about his bowl distractedly.

" Don't use that vacant, disrespectful tone with me, boy!" Aunt Petunia snapped in reply, and Harry had glanced up to say, much more firmly, " Nothing's _wrong!_"

" Yeah, right." Dudley had mumbled with his mouth half full of sweet cereal. After swallowing…and half-choking in the process…he had added maliciously, " Are you having nightmares again? Is ickle Harry scared of the _dark?_"

" Shut it, Dudley." Harry had hissed beneath his breath.

" Well, for goodness sake, boy, if something's wrong with you, by all means we should get you checked. We don't want you doing you-know-what, if the neighbors hear…" Aunt Petunia, at least, seemed to have grasped that Harry could and, if the situation called for it, would, without reprisal, use magic to cure himself of any serious ailments.

" I said _nothing's wrong_." Harry had insisted quickly…but then something, maybe desperation, maybe that unbearable, painful loneliness, had ripped deeply into Harry's soul, and he had suddenly found himself blurting, " My best friend's sister was kidnapped at the end of term."

He could see that this news had little affect on his uncle or his cousin; Dudley had simply sneered, and Uncle Vernon muttered something about lax security and padded cells, but Harry was watching Aunt Petunia, who had gone a curious shade of green.

" Not…not the _Dementors?_" She had gasped. Dementors were the only thing in the wizarding world that Aunt Petunia feared just as greatly as Harry did, and Harry had seen the relief in her eyes when he shook his head.

" No…Death Eaters. The closest supporters of Lord Voldemort." He had explained, his voice gaining a bit of life as he went on. " We don't know where she is, or if she's alive, and I…I've been having dreams…"

_Dreams where she dies_. He had concluded silently, but he didn't say it, because Dudley was suddenly laughing.

" Aaahhh, you're having _dreams? _Is the little-bitty kidnapped you-know-what your _girlfriend? Ha, ha!_"

And then, without knowing what came over him, Harry had been on his feet, his wand out of his pocket and pointing at Dudley's flushed face, and he had been trembling all over, ignoring Aunt Petunia's tiny shriek and Uncle Vernon's ham-like fists slamming down on the table.

" You…shut up…about Ginny." He had hissed the words raggedly.

Dudley had looked anxious but not truly frightened.

" You can't do you-know-what here, you'll get expelled from that stupid school of yours for sure this time!" Dudley had stated triumphantly. " So I'll say whatever I like! I'll say that that little _freak _got what she deserved…"

And then Dudley had been flying through the air, colliding with the wall, where Harry had held him, one arm braced against Dudley's throat, his wand digging into his cousin's cheek. And before Uncle Vernon could leap roaring from his seat and come at them, Harry had snarled, with as much venom as he could muster, " If you talk about Ginny like that again, I swear I'll kill you."

This was the third summer that Harry had been locked in his room without any hope of being let out except for meals and to use the bathroom.

Now, as he listened to his Uncle snoring down the hall, Harry wondered, dully, over what Dudley had said…he had asked if Ginny was Harry's girlfriend.

She wasn't, of course…Harry hadn't had a great deal of time for dating during the past year, and his only relationship, with Cho Chang, had ended rather badly on Valentine's Day…but he couldn't deny that, with Ginny, he wanted something more. He truly wanted to be closer to her, but he couldn't understand why. He had known she fancied him for several years now, but it was only in the past seven months or so that he had begun to notice things about her…the way she laughed, the way her eyes glowed, the way she smiled at him…

And he felt terrible for thinking of her that way right now, because it wasn't objective, and everyone knew that when it came to matters involving Voldemort, one _had _to be objective.

With a low cry of anger burning in his throat, Harry swept all of his parchment, quills, and empty ink bottles from his desk with one arm, and then leaned forward, resting his cheek against the semi-warm wood, as he wondered what to do next.

Obviously, he couldn't escape from the Dursleys…not without inflicting harm on them, or using magic. And there was no hope that Ron and Hermione would come and rescue him…besides the will, they quite obviously lacked the means. And Sirius…regardless of whatever had happened between them, Harry didn't want his godfather risking exposure to a world that thought him either dead or highly dangerous. It was too risky.

Harry had come so close, lately, to writing a letter to Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts headmaster and the wisest wizard Harry had ever known, asking for advice. But he always stopped himself just short of actually penning his troubles to paper…because he remembered that Dumbledore had gone away somewhere for the summer, and last he had heard…from the less-than-reliable source of the _Daily Prophet_, which was delivered to him daily by owl post…Dumbledore was supposed to be unreachable. Harry was tempted to take the chance of writing to him anyway, but he didn't want to risk the life of his snowy owl, Hedwig, the only company he had.

Sometimes—owing solely to the fact that she was his only source of friendly companionship anymore—Harry talked to Hedwig. She didn't often seem to understand, but Harry had no one else with which to share his fears, and he had decided long ago that she would have to do. So he read the _Daily Prophet _aloud to her, and expressed his fears about the new Minister of Magic—the previous one, Cornelius Fudge, had been murdered several days before the end of the last term at Hogwarts, presumably by Voldemort—and how, judging by the reports given by the _Prophet, _this man…Bandoreen Finch…was quite power hungry and not well suited to the job.

Whenever his worries over the happenings beyond his small home became overpowering, Harry found himself longing after his friends.

The cool night air swirled through Harry's open window, setting the discarded parchment on the floor aflutter. A set of wind-logs chimed somewhere down the street. Distantly, a car backfired, and a dog howled a lonely song to the staring eye of the moon. And Harry wondered what it would be like be normal.

Normal, so that he could listen to these common sounds and be disturbed by them, and not be wondering if each creaking stair, each trembling branch, each rustle in the night was the movements of a Dark wizard creeping into the house to kill him.

Harry had never been much of a worrier…he truly believed that there was no sense in trying to predict and prepare for the unpredictable…but after five nights and five days of constant wakefulness his nerves felt as taut and tender as the skin over a livid, pulsing bruise. He wanted to get up and run from the room, run screaming from the house, down the street and all the way back to Hogwarts, but at the same time he was so weary he didn't ever want to move again.

Occasionally, Harry remembered that Ron and Ginny had invited him to spend the summer with them in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, the underground organization of highly-skilled wizard who, unbeknownst to the Ministry of Magic—vociferous denouncers of Voldemort's return and quick rise back to power—were operating in secret to bring Voldemort back to his knees. The center of operations for the Order was Sirius's old house, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, though Ron's family now divided their time between Grimmauld and their own home, The Burrow. Frankly, Harry would have felt uniformly blessed to be at either place right now…despite everything that had happened to set him apart from his friends, anywhere was better than the hell that was Number Four, Privet Drive.

But Ron hadn't written him, and Hermione hadn't written him, and Sirius hadn't written him, and Harry somehow felt that the invitation had been revoked. No one was coming to get him…he was going to be stuck here, for the first time since his very first year at Hogwarts, all alone until next term started…if he didn't die of restlessness and loneliness first.

Slowly, Harry lifted his head from the desk, then banged it back down again.

" This is insane." He muttered. He had to get out; he was going mad.

But where could he go? The Burrow was too far away for him to walk there, as was Grimmauld Place, as his legs were still mending from where they had been crushed by a luggage rack when the Death Eaters had attacked the Hogwarts Express three weeks prior. The long, on-foot journey that he and Ron had embarked on shortly thereafter had only complicated the healing process; Harry found that he still couldn't walk great distances without finding himself in serious pain.

He could always use his Firebolt, the top-of-the-line broomstick that Sirius had given him during his third year at Hogwarts, but if he did take wing on his broom, Harry also took a great risk of being seen by Muggles—non-magical folk—because, in a foolish fit of temper, he had left the train without his Invisibility Cloak, which had once belonged to his father. It was only luck that he had gotten any of his school things back at all…luck, and the kind-heartedness of the Weasleys, Ron's family, who had met them at the train station with their luggage in hand.

Harry felt a mixture of sadness and gratitude surging through his belly as he thought of the Weasleys, and he put them from his mind as quickly as he could. There was no point in dwelling on the ones he cared for and couldn't be with. It served no purpose beyond causing him pain.

A low rustling near his window drew Harry's attention. Picking his head up from the desk, he glanced around, heart racing, to see Hedwig shaking out her ruffled feathers and watching him with her luminous amber eyes from her perch on the windowsill.

Harry smiled tightly, and got to his feet, moving to greet her.

" 'Lo, Hedwig." He murmured, running his hand gently along the top of her head. " Been hunting?" Hedwig clicked her beak and shifted slightly beneath his caress. Then, with a swift swiveling of her head, she took wing and glided to her cage, sitting at the foot of Harry's bed; once there she plunged her head into her drinking bowl.

Still grinning despite himself—it was a weak gesture but a gesture of resigned happiness nonetheless—Harry knelt amidst the scattered pieces of discarded parchment all about his floor, and picked up the most recent letter that he had tried…and failed…to finish. With eyes still stinging from sleep deprivation, Harry read what he had written.

_Hermione,_

_Hi. It's Harry. How are you? Are you at Ron's? I wish I was with you guys. Life's pretty boring here. The Dursleys are being about as friendly as Professor Umbridge nowadays. Guess I shouldn't have laid into Dudley the other day, but was being a prat. Anyway, just wondering how you're doing. And I thought you should know, I've been having these weird dreams about_

And that was where it ended, because for the life of him Harry couldn't think of a way to describe his dreams and visions, which alternated between reliving that terrible day on the train, and walking down the corridors at Hogwarts, looking for a room that was never, never there. Harry had a strange feeling that he was seeking after the Room of Requirement, a strange place inside the castle walls that granted its seeker whatever they were looking for, but for the life of him Harry couldn't, upon waking or returning to the present, ever remember _why _he had been looking for that room in the first place.

And so he crumbled up the letter—which sounded too impersonal to be completed anyway—and lobbed it into the trashcan. Then he got to his feet, trudged to his bed, and flung himself across it with his arms tucked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling and watching the moonlight splay in strange, twisted patterns across his walls.

He lay there, sleepless and contemplative, until the first rays of dawn light began to filter over the horizon. He realized then that the neighbor's idiot dog still hadn't shut up; it sounded very close, maybe only a few houses down. Grumbling, Harry staggered to his feet in the semi-darkness and returned to his window, where he leaned his head and shoulders out into the chilly morning and listened intently.

The dog sounded hoarse; it was still baying at the top of its voice, and Harry could see it, across the street and three houses down; the dog was facing his way and lunging sporadically against its chain, dancing on its hind legs for seconds at a time before crashing back down, only to leap up again a moment later.

A prickle of fear brushed against the back of Harry's neck as he wondered what the dog had sensed. Instinctively he swept the deserted street with a single glance, then surveyed the Dursleys' yard. It was empty, as quiet as the rest of the neighborhood, but Harry had a very distinct feeling that something in the shadows was watching him.

" Ron? Hermione?" He called their names impulsively, but nothing stirred in response to his voice. Shaking away the brief hope that had sunk its dagger-sharp talons into him, Harry moved away from the window, picking up his quills and ink bottles as he went and rearranging them in perfect order on his desk. When he had completed this benign task, Harry sensed that it was late enough for him to leave his bedroom. Glancing once more toward the window, he backed out of the room and closed the door softly behind him, turning as he did so.

Uncle Vernon was standing at the top of the stairs five feet in front of Harry, looking as though he had been forced to swallow a bucket of slugs.

" Breakfast." Uncle Vernon grunted unwillingly, patting his rotund belly as he spoke, his reddish face turning even darker in color as though he was embarrassed to be talking to his criminal nephew.

" I know." Harry sighed, following his Uncle downstairs.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already seated at the table around a large skillet full of scrambled eggs and hash. Dudley cast a single glance toward Harry, and then, grinning wickedly, he began to load up his plate with food. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia followed his example, leaving Harry to serve himself last. Harry gazed at the small serving of eggs that remained, and thought longingly of Hogwarts, where the plates were only empty when everyone was full.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, with only the clinking of silverware and the occasional rude belch from Dudley puncturing the silence. Harry took his time eating, savoring the small meal as though it was his last. He did his best to ignore his aunt and cousin, who, upon finishing their eating, began to converse quietly, but some of the words that Dudley spoke seeped into Harry's mind, refusing to be barred…

" Yeah, mum, can I go hang out with Piers today? We'll just go down the lane…no, of course I'll stay away from the place where we saw that…that _thing_ last year…just don't let _him_ get anywhere near us…"

As if he didn't know that Harry was confined to his room.

" Of course, Dudders." Aunt Petunia simpered, giving her son an almost dreamy look. " Just be back before dark, okay, sweetums? And tell your friends they can come for dinner if they'd like."

Harry repressed a groan, wondering if he could possibly manage to convince his aunt and uncle to leave him to himself tonight. He was far from afraid of Dudley's gang—a group of boy who were disgustingly mean to almost anyone who crossed their path—but Harry didn't feel he could handle their snide remarks and jeering taunts…not now, when his nerves were so taut and frayed and he was so close to snapping…

" Thanks, mum. I mean, at least _I have friends_." Dudley directed this snide comment toward Harry, along with a sidelong glance. Harry's hands clenched into white-knuckled fists against his knees.

" I…I'll be right back." He muttered, getting to his feet. Uncle Vernon glanced up from the paper he held in his rather large hands; his beady eyes were glinting with suspicion.

" Where are you off to, boy?" He demanded sharply.

" Bathroom." Harry tried to work a proper note of respect into his voice, and then made a hasty getaway, up to the top of the stairs. He turned the corner toward the bathroom, placed his back to the wall, and slid down into a crouch, head tilted back, eyes closed and breathing ragged…because he could feel it brimming near to bursting, that old sensation of uncontrollable hatred and rage…

_Stay calm, stay calm…_

But he could only hear Dudley's voice in his head…

" At least _I have friends!_ She got what she deserved! You'll be expelled for sure this time…!"

" Calm." Harry hissed to himself, resting his fists against his forehead. " Don't blow it now…"

A voice called up the stairs to him then, causing Harry to jump.

" Bye-bye, ickle Harry! Wait 'til I tell the boys about your little _girlfriend!_" Dudley was laughing as he departed from the bottom of the stairs—laughing coldly—and Harry was so angry that he was shaking…and then the pictures on the hallway walls were shaking, too, and Harry could hear things rattling on the bathroom counter two doors down…

He was going to do it, he was going to do something he would regret…

And then, quite suddenly, the shaking stopped. Harry breathed out slowly, carefully, and heard the sound echo. Confused, his lifted his head away from his knees and glanced around—and an icy chill surged through his body.

He was sitting a brightly-lit hallway, very unlike the one he had been crouched in moments before; the walls here were stone, the floor carpeted in red, the world all around flickering in the dim glow of torchlight, and there was something scraping against the back of his head…

He was back at Hogwarts again.

Harry got to his feet, very slowly, afraid to move too fast in case it caused the illusion to dispel. He revolved on the spot, carefully taking in every angle of the corridor and all that was in it—candelabras, suits of armor, tapestries hanging limp from the rafters of the hallway, and a portrait just behind him of a man and several trolls, a portrait that looked very familiar…

_The dancing trolls_.

Harry's body froze again.

Slowly, he turned to face the opposite wall.

The tapestries fluttered once, the flames bowing in a nonexistence breeze, and then settled back into stillness.

Harry began to pace, very slowly, up and down the corridor in a tight circuit, staring at the wall so intently his head ached.

_I need…I need…I need…_

What did he need?

_I need to find out what my dreams mean._

Harry repeated this phrase in his head again and again as he paced, and on the third lap around the predestined space, a door shivered into existence before him. Harry stepped toward it eagerly, caution abandoned, and reached for the knob…

And then the world around him vanished; Harry blinked, looking round at the dull, off-white walls hung with immobile pictures of the Dursley family. Then he turned back to stare what was directly before him.

His fingertips were brushing the empty wall. There was nothing there.

Disappointment flooded through Harry, and he stepped back, lowering his arm to his side. Perhaps the anguish of the not knowing was so terrible because this felt like an echo of the times he had raced down the hallways in the Department of Mysteries, searching for something.

But this was also different, because he wasn't truly asleep when these new visions sprang up. He was safely awake and alive, but caged, trapped in the prison of his own mind, unable to discern fiction from reality…

Yet there was another similarity between his visions of the previous year and the ones he was seeing now, a definite parallel, not bound inside the dreams but rather outside them, that linked them together and made Harry wonder if they somehow led down the same road, to the same single place—neither the Department of Mysteries nor the Room of Requirement, but something that was a tallying of both…

Harry placed his flat palm to the wall, leaned his forehead to the cool plaster, and inhaled deeply.

His scar was burning.


	2. The Unexpected Guest

_Author's Notes:_ My dearest readers and reviewer(s), it is with regret that I must inform you that I will be away for a solid week hereafter and will not be able to update in that given amount of time. However, an update will be forthcoming upon my return next Saturday, as I have the next chapter already structered and prepared for writing. For now, please enjoy this chapter and, as always, please, please, review!

Without further ado, then, I give you...

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Chapter II: The Unexpected Guest

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Harry lingered in the hallway, hand flat against the wall, head bowed, until the fierce pounding in his scar faded to a low, thrumming ache that was easier to overcome. With one shaking hand, Harry moved with the pretense of brushing his untidy black bangs aside, taking a moment to check and see if the scar really was burning. As always after an attack of this kind, there was little change to the skin on his forehead—if anything, it was a degree or so cooler than the rest of his head.

" Mad." Harry muttered to himself, the echo of his voice seeming to be a confirmation. " I'm going absolutely mad…"

_But no matter what, I can't lose control like that again_. Harry reminded himself sternly…so sternly, in fact, that he was reminded of Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House. _I have to close my mind…they were all right, Ron and Hermione and everyone else, I have to close my mind, I can't let Voldemort get a foothold…I can't fail Dumbledore…_

A warm sense of calm and relief filled Harry's heart at the thought of the Hogwarts headmaster with his twinkling blue eyes and wise, kind voice. It was as though a bit of Dumbledore's commanding presence had entered the brightly-lit hallway to stand beside him…to guide him…

And as if a faint voice was speaking in his ear, Harry knew exactly what needed to be done. _Exactly_.

Ignoring the sounds of his aunt and uncle pottering about downstairs, Harry moved swiftly to his bedroom, wrenched the door open, and entered. Closing the door much more loudly than was necessary at his back, Harry paused just over the bedroom threshold, waiting with bated breath to see if his rude noise-making had attracted any unwanted attention from the other residents of the house.

There was no alteration in the humming of noise from below. Relieved, Harry hurried to his desk. Ignoring the fact that a delivery owl was perched on top of Hedwig's cage, hooting angrily around a copy of the _Daily Prophet _clutched in its beak, Harry pulled out a scrap piece of parchment from the drawer of his desk, and, not bothering to seat himself, he scribbled a hasty letter with his hand still trembling.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I'm really sorry to bother you, sir, because I know you've said you'll be busy this summer. But I wanted to write to you to tell you that that thing that was happening last year, that I was getting special lessons for, is starting to happen again. I haven't been sleeping. I don't know how much you know but I really think I need help, sir. Because I'm really afraid that what happened at the end of last term is going to happen again, only maybe with different people this time, you know. I need some advice, but I haven't been in contact with the others since we got back. Please reply quickly._

_Harry_

After signing his name, Harry checked to make sure that his hasty scrawl was legible and that no one could deduce exactly what had been referred to in the letter. Satisfied, after nothing more than a cursory glance, Harry began to seal the letter—and then paused midway through, reality catching up to the brief spurt of insane action that had guided him thus far.

In his mind's eye, Harry could once more see Dumbledore's face as he knew it best; ancient and careworn but smiling, his eyes bright and soul-searching behind his half-moon spectacles. And then, as though he had turned to face a mirror and the whole image had been reversed, Harry recalled Dumbledore as he had seen him last; his powerful shoulders hunched within his traveling cloak, his rolling tones muffled, the light in his eyes somehow dimmed, deadened, as he had gazed at Harry with no more familiarity than one might warrant a burn-mark on the wall.

And Harry began, suddenly, to doubt.

What if Dumbledore didn't reply to his letter? Certainly this would be a rejection worse than Ron's or Hermione's or Sirius's, because Dumbledore had always seemed to take a keen interest in him, and Harry felt strangely—and sensed Dumbledore did, too—that, beyond the normal wizarding expectancy to be invited to Hogwarts, their meeting six years prior had been by no means chance, their destinies somehow entwined, perhaps before Harry himself had ever known, before even Dumbledore had.

And what if that strange, elusive something—whatever it was that had caused Dumbledore to gaze at him so mistrustfully at year's end—what if that had served to sever that strange tie between them?

But what other choice did Harry have? He could think of only one other person who knew about his dreams, but it was not a person that he by any means trusted; Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts and, until quite recently, Harry's Occlumency teacher in secret, was also Harry's least favorite person in the Order, possibly in all of Hogwarts…possibly just below Voldemort himself, although Snape's position on Harry's list of dislike was almost equally shared by Draco Malfoy. Regardless, Harry knew that the barely-existent link of trust between Snape and himself would not withstand the strain of Harry's most recent visions…not when it was Snape who had been coaching him for the past six months on how best to close his mind to such things.

And so that left Dumbledore; the only one who would understand, without laughing or mocking Harry or being angry with him…in essence, his last hope.

Clutching the letter delicately between his teeth, Harry dropped onto his stomach, reached beneath his bed, and extracted a large purse full of coins from a pile of discarded old socks that he had forgotten to put out with last week's laundry. Hurriedly Harry extracted five bronze Knuts from amongst the golden Galleons and silver Sickles, and dumped them rather forcefully into the carrying-pouch on the delivery owl's ankle. Ignoring its incessant hooting—assumedly scolding him for his delayed response to its presence—Harry tugged the _Daily Prophet _from the owl's beak, picked it up in one hand, and all but threw it out of his open window.

" Okay, girl." Harry muttered as he turned back to face Hedwig's cage; Hedwig glanced up, looking alert, though slightly affronted for having been woken from what must have been a decent sleep. " I've got a job for you. C'mere."

Hedwig obeyed at once, ruffling her feathers importantly as she perched on Harry's windowsill. Harry passed the letter into her sharp beak, then placed his hands gently on either side of Hedwig's domed, downy head, forcing her to meet his eyes.

" I need you to find Albus Dumbledore for me, okay, Hedwig?" He demanded in a whisper. " He's the only one who can help me, so…if you still want a master next year…fly hard. I don't know where he is but you have to find him, okay? Find Dumbledore, Hedwig, find him!" These last ordered words emerged as a shout as Hedwig took wing and soared from the window.

Harry stood for a moment, gazing into the late morning as his owl rapidly faded into the distance, and then, abruptly, was swallowed by the lilac-blue berth of the horizon.

It was several long minutes later that Harry realized he was shaking, shaking so hard that his teeth were chattering together. A shiver racked down his spine, then another, and for a moment Harry attributed this unexpected fit of chills to the appearance of Dementors. His eyes raked frantically, fearfully, over the street, but there was no sign of the tall, hooded fiends, guardians of the wizard prison Azkaban, and already the chills had tapered. It took Harry a moment to realize that it had been anxiety, and not any magical interference, that had had him shaking like a brittle leaf in a dry October wind.

Harry knew he could deny it no longer; the visions were getting worse. He had been walking that same, strangely dark corridor for days now in his visions and dreams alike—when he had still been sleeping, that was—but it had never before been so clear. There was only one conclusion he could make, and it was a terrifying notion in itself. Yet it explained the sudden clarity of the formerly elusive vision perfectly…as though a line had suddenly snapped taut, sending out two electrical pulses that collided at the center…

Voldemort was looking for the Room of Requirement, and in his intentions he had inadvertently allowed Harry a good look into his own misted desires. The question that now plagued Harry was the _why_. Why, why would Voldemort be looking for the Room of Requirement…and how could he ever hope to come close? Hogwarts, home to that special room, was under the personal attention and protection of Albus Dumbledore, said to be the only wizard the Dark Lord had ever feared.

_But Dumbledore's not there now, is he? _A small voice of reason broke through the confused swirl of Harry's thoughts. _He's gone now, doing whatever it is Dumbledore does. He's not there to defend the school, Voldemort can do what he pleases…_

An icy hand closed over Harry's heart.

Then…

_No_. He interrupted himself firmly. _It wasn't Voldemort standing in front of that door, it was me. I was in my own head. Maybe, I don't know, I needed a bit of magic moving through me to make everything clear, and now it has, I know what I need to do…_

There was only one possible meaning to that vision, excluding the angle of Voldemort. In light of all that had and could happen, including the rise to power of this new Minister of Magic, Harry would have to return to Hogwarts and rally the remnant of Dumbledore's Army, to continue the training they had begun the previous year,

But it wouldn't be easy. Every member of the D.A. had witnessed Ginny's capture on the train and the terrifying power of Voldemort's hand. Harry sensed, instinctively, that not all of them would be quite so eager to stand against an enemy that, until now, might have seemed nothing more than smoke and legend.

_But it's what has to happen. It's what people want. _Harry reasoned with himself. _It's what Dumbledore would want…what Ron and Hermione want…what Sirius probably wants, too…what Ginny would have wanted, if she were here…_

A terrible, hollow ache pounded in Harry's chest as he thought her name. There was only a small amount of relief in the fact that his newly-clarified visions had not, as they usually did, entailed Ginny suffering a horrible and painful demise at the hands of Voldemort. At least it hadn't been that. Nothing could be worse than seeing that with such lucidity, _nothing_.

_Unless it really happens_.

Harry shook that traitorous thought away before it could consume him.

Hoping to distract himself, Harry returned to his bed, and sat down heavily on its edge, unfurling the _Daily Prophet _across his lap. He skimmed past the main headline—_**Minister of Magic Declares New Legislature**_—and he was proceeding to the second page when a single word on the cover of the newspaper caught his eye, seeming to leap out from the rest of the text as though it, like the headline, had been bolded.

_Werewolf_.

Perhaps Harry's instinctual reaction was due to the fact that the words 'Ministry' and 'Werewolf' in the same article could not, under any general circumstances, bode well for Harry's friend and former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin, who was himself a werewolf; or perhaps his response was to be attributed to a horrible memory of something he had heard months ago, while on Christmas holiday in Grimmauld Place…something Arthur Weasley, Ron's father, had told him…

_Nasty man, Fenrir Greyback. One of the most vicious werewolves ever to live, the exact opposite of our friend Remus, in fact, he's the one who gave Remus the bite in the first place…anyway, he's nothing short of a savage, exactly the reason why the Ministry tries to pass registration laws for werewolves left and right…just last month Greyback attacked a little Muggle girl, absolutely savaged her, nothing much left really…_

Whether it was his worries for Lupin or his memory of the accusations against Greyback that brought on Harry's reaction, it mattered little; all he knew was that sweat had begun to dew his upper lip and he was trembling slightly once more. His eyes flickered hurriedly across the page, and more and more words seemed to leap out at him as he read on…

_Minister himself to push legislation demanding registration…attendance not available to contest…all centaurs, half-bloods, werewolves, half-giants, and Animagi to be marked…_

For a moment, Harry thought the force of his rage was bringing tears to his eyes, causing the page to blur before him; then he realized that he was shaking, truly shaking now, wave after wave of hot anger pulsing through his body, making him nearly feverish with hatred.

The new Minister of Magic had only been in office for three weeks and already he was attempting to pass legislature that had long been banned by wizards of all races, ages, and credence! He was essentially and entirely denying the right to privacy held fast by the magical community, for the sake of…of…

_Of what? _Harry wondered, his confusion giving momentary pause to his anger, so that he grew quite still all of a sudden. _What good could possibly come of this? What does the Minister want?_

" Power." Harry muttered into the near-absolute silence of his empty room. He had found oftentimes that thinking aloud helped him to spot some sort of pattern in thoughts that were otherwise, when left in his head, a distinctly jumbled mess. " He wants to keep everyone under his thumb…like he's taken a page straight out of Fudge's book. That means he'll have to know where everyone is and what they're doing…or at least, anyone who isn't a full-blooded wizard…"

Anxiously, Harry wondered if this new legislature might include Muggle-borns, as well…Muggle-borns, referred to by some as Mudbloods, encompassed a great portion of the wizarding community, and it was a category which Hermione fell under. Harry imagined her being branded with a symbol similar to the Dark Mark, emblazonment of the Death Eaters…and he shuddered.

_No. They've got to veto this, this…this _whatever_, however he's planning to do it. They can't let Finch get away with this_.

But Harry had to admit, if only to himself, that the Ministry was, essentially, a weak group of wizards whose prize was always diplomacy and good show. Though many wizards besides Fudge had seen Voldemort on the night that Harry had nearly lost Sirius to the world beyond the veil, none had thus far come forward and attested to what they had seen. Fear—either of the Ministry itself or of retribution from Voldemort and a similar fate to Fudge's—was keeping their tongues tied, and the voice of reason was once more going unheard.

Harry scanned the article again, reading through the list of those who would be forced to bear a mark for simply being who they were.

Centaurs…_Bane, Firenze, Ronan…_Half-bloods…Werewolves…_Lupin…_Half-Giants…_Hagrid, Madam Maxime…_Animagi…_Sirius..._

In almost every category Harry would find someone he knew that would suffer. But he was also well aware that some…nearly all of the centaurs, certainly Sirius, and more than likely Hagrid…would not submit to the Ministry quietly. Of course, there was no way anyone could possibly know Sirius was an Animagus, and few people remaining in the Ministry still knew that Lupin was a werewolf…unless…

Harry stared down at the paper, unseeing.

Unless someone let leak to the Ministry the names of certain people of interest…it would all come crashing down on the members of the Order before too long. If someone rolled on their old friends…if…

_Wormtail_.

Harry realized than that he was shaking again.

Peter Pettigrew, known to his friends during school-years as Wormtail, was Voldemort's greatest supporter…and the man who had betrayed James and Lily Potter to their deaths. He had framed Sirius for their murders, sending an innocent man to twelve years of mental torture in Azkaban…and then he had deprived Harry of the chance to escape the Dursleys forever…

And Pettigrew had the power to strip away the defenses of Lupin and Sirius—his once-closest friends—and of Hagrid…he had known them all before…

It was too much for Harry's already-overworked mind to handle. He cast the _Prophet _aside and stretched out on his bed, laying with his arms straight as ramrods at his sides, his breathing shallow as he attempted—and failed—to clear his head.

_It'll be fine. Wormtail won't risk showing himself to the Ministry, it would tarnish his so-called record…supposed to be dead, stupid git…nothing will happen to Lupin or Sirius or Hagrid…and besides, the Ministry doesn't know where to find them…_

Harry's mind drifted into a stupor, then, his last truly intelligible thought being the uneasy one that the Ministry had a way of dealing with traitors…

* * *

The passing hours chafed strangely against the corners of Harry's conscious mind; twice he felt that he stood on the very doorstep of a sweet, dark sleep, only to be snatched from the threshold within seconds by the sound of a car backfiring or a dog barking down the lane. Resigned, after his second failed attempt at sleep, to simply lay like one dead, Harry did just that—his chest barely rose and fell as he turned his head aside, gazing at the wall, and allowed the restraining floodgates in his mind to unleash the full force of his tormented thoughts back into the realm of his still-functioning brain.

Several times, Harry toyed with the notion of sending Hermione a letter, asking her what she thought about the legislation mentioned in the _Prophet. _He could almost imagine her indignation now—_Oh, really, what do they think they're _doing? _The Ministry has been trying to do this sort of thing for years, I've read all about it, there's simply no legal standing whatsoever—_but Harry could not restrain a guilty little twinge of his mind that traitorously recalled the sins of Fenrir Greyback…and he shuddered.

_Not all werewolves are bad. Lupin's not…he's one of the greatest wizards I know. Why should _he _have to suffer just because some slimy git can't keep his teeth to himself? _It was perhaps a callous thought, but Harry clung to it abstinently. _Hermione's right…well, she would be, I know she'd say it was stupid…they've got no case…_

He was soothed, fear overcome by mental reassurances, but Harry was not so lulled to peace that he could sleep. He simply rolled over to face the wall, and continued to think, watching the sunlight playing and dancing across his wall, twisting itself into strange shapes—here a tree, there a cat, and what looked to be a crumpled little broomstick….

A strong sense of sadness welled in Harry that was so painful it stopped his breathing entirely.

What he wouldn't give to be at Grimmauld Place, sharing steak-and-kidney pie with his friends, teasing Hermione about her obsession with the liberation of house-elves, joking with Ron about what devil-spawn teachers might arrive this year, being regaled by stories of Fred and George's just-begun business, inside the wizard-square Diagon Alley…or to be sitting in front of the fire, discussing whatever deep matter arose with Lupin, or to be hiding away in Sirius's room, back-on to the door, listening raptly as his godfather told him story after strange and funny and wonderful story of the parents Harry had never known…or to be sitting in the din of excitement that was Grimmauld at mealtimes, and catching Ginny's eye across the table, seeing her special, mischievous smile…

And with the gut-wrenching memory of Ginny the illusion dispelled; Harry was in his room at Number Four Privet Drive, the least magical of places in the world, it seemed, and he had never truly left his bed, only wished that he had…

The afternoon dragged by in a strange, sluggish lull; several times Harry leaped to his feet and began to pace around his room, arms crossed, eyes cast moodily onto the floor. Often he began to formulate letters to his friends in his head, but he could never seem to find a way around the subject of Ginny's capture, and it wasn't something he could simply gloss over, like the unfortunate death of a childhood pet or something of that nature. It was also not something he felt he could address with them yet…not so impersonally as through owl post. It had to be discussed…if it was discussed at all…face to face.

This small and reasonable argument did nothing to quell the restlessness brimming in Harry's heart. He was certain he had paced a track into the carpet when he finally gave up on attempting to clear his jumbled thoughts and flung himself back onto the bed.

" This is getting stupid." He mumbled, watching as the late-afternoon sunlight sliced through his window; he hadn't realized how much time had passed, and couldn't help wondering what Ron and his family were doing now. Were they thinking of him, separated by more than just miles, but by what seemed like time and space itself? Did they feel the same chasm yawning inside of them at his absence as he did in theirs?

Loneliness washed over Harry in a great, suffocating tide.

Slowly, without consciously making the decision, Harry rose from the bed. He paced over to his desk, lowered himself carefully onto the wooden chair, then pulled out one of his numerous quills and began to run the tip of it beneath his chin, his mind racing. He stared sightlessly downward, thinking, thinking.

Then, pulling out another scrap of parchment from his drawer, Harry began to write; not to Ron, or to Hermione, or to Sirius, or even to Lupin.

Instead, Harry wrote to the one person who would not receive any letter he sent, and he poured his heart into every word as the one he was writing to had once poured her soul into a cursed diary…

_Dear Ginny,_

_I have no idea when…or even if…you'll read this. Assuming you are…reading it, I mean…I think you should know that it's been three weeks since you were captured that I'm writing this. Things are pretty quiet here at the Dursleys. Dudley…my cousin, you know…shot off his mouth about you and I let him have it. My Aunt and Uncle were downright furious. I thought it served him well._

_Anyway, that's not why I'm writing. I really don't _know_ why I'm writing, to be honest. But I don't have anyone else to talk to. Ron's not contacting me, and neither is Hermione, and as for Sirius…well, I said some pretty awful stuff to him on the train and I'm pretty sure he can't stand me now. Nothing I can do about that._

Harry was surprised by how easy this was, writing a letter that Ginny might never read, as though he had cut a deep tract in an infected wound and was watching the poison bleed from his system…

_Anyway, it's been happening again. My curse scar, acting up. And I've been having visions. Sometimes about Voldemort, or if I'm lucky, I get to go back to Hogwarts and look for the Room of Requirement. But when I see visions, they're mostly about you. And they scare me. To be perfectly honest, Ginny, I've never been this scared in my life. And I can't help feeling like this is all my fault, like I forced you to go back with me to save Sirius and I damned you. And I'm sorry. If you're reading this, wherever I am, and wherever you are, I want you to know that I am so, so sorry. And a lot of the time I wish I could take it back. But that'd probably just slime things up more, wouldn't it?_

_I hope you get to read this, Ginny. Because that means you're okay, and I think if you're okay, then everything will be back to normal. And I promise, I'm not going to hurt you anymore. Ever._

_Stay safe,_

_Harry_

And then, feeling that that was too impersonal of an ending, Harry added a small postscript in the corner. Folding the letter over thrice, he hurried to his trunk and stuffed the letter into the pocket of his school robes for safe keeping. Then, feeling somehow lighter, though nowhere near cheerful, Harry set to the task of cleaning out Hedwig's much-neglected cage.

It was nearly an hour and a half later that Harry completed his self-assigned chore and straightened up, his back muscles protesting mightily, to see that the sun was already sinking below the horizon. Harry's heart did a vastly similar impression of it, because at that moment he realized that time had slipped away all too quickly, and that Dudley and his gang would soon be home.

Groaning lowly, Harry tossed a dirty wet dishrag—his only means of cleaning Hedwig's cage—into the laundry heap at the corner of his bed, and stretched luxuriously, listening to the satisfying popping of various ligaments and joints as they eased from their cramped positions.

Harry watched the sun complete its downward descent, and then, as it slid completely out of sight beneath banners of magenta clouds, Harry sighed. He had been half-hoping to see Hedwig returning, and knew that it would take him quite some time to resign himself to the fact that it could be days, possibly weeks, before his faithful owl returned.

_If she does_. Harry thought, with a shiver.

A great clattering and rustling echoed up the stairs at that moment, causing Harry to leap slightly and spin around. It had been relatively quiet in the house since early that morning, and Harry knew the commotion could only mean one thing: Dudley's gang had arrived.

Harry took a moment to lean his shoulder against the door and take deep, calming breaths. He reminded himself that, no matter what Piers or Dudley or the rest of them said, he needn't lose his temper. They were only ignorant, stupid boys, unaware of how dark a magic surrounded Harry, hunting him. He couldn't allow himself to be baited by their sneering, thoughtless remarks.

_I don't want the Ministry after me again_. Harry admitted, if only to himself. Then, inhaling deeply and squaring his shoulders, he flung open the door and marched downstairs.

Loud, strident laughter wafted from the sitting room as Harry entered the kitchen; Aunt Petunia was pulling a steaming casserole from the oven, her pallid cheeks slightly flushed, and Harry could hear Uncle Vernon chatting with Dudley's friends in the next room, evicting false snorts and derisive laughter from them every few minutes.

Slightly disgusted, Harry turned away, and, without being asked, began to set the table. It was an automatic reaction, to give his shaking, clammy hands something to do.

_What is wrong with me? _Harry wondered as he banged a plate down with unnecessary force onthe table, causing Aunt Petunia to flinch and give a small yelp of fright. _Why can't I control myself? I'm a better wizard than this…_

Just as Harry had set the last fork down at his own placemat, his scar gave an odd, pulsing throb, and Harry clapped a hand to his forehead. In the second that he, stunned, blinked, he could see, behind his eyelids for a mere half-second, a man crouched on bended knee, long hair falling down his back, his face obscured by shadow.

And then Harry was back in the kitchen, and whatever emotion he had felt emanating from his distant enemy—anger, maybe, or something like suppressed delight—was fading fast. Cursing lowly, Harry flung himself down on his chair, tilting it back on two legs and staring at the ceiling.

" Chair down, boy!" Aunt Petunia hissed, and Harry was forcibly reminded of a scene he had witnessed between two people at Grimmauld Place the previous year. Snickering to himself, he let the chair fall back with a clatter, and, as though the thudding resonation had been a cue, a group of boys filed in from the living room to attend the meal.

Harry did not recall the names of every boy in Dudley's gang, nor did he care to know them. He loathed the very sight of them—a feeling born not of fear, but of spite. He had seen them abusing neighborhood children who had done nothing more than cross paths with them, and they reminded Harry forcibly of young Death Eaters. In fact, were they not Muggles…

" Hey, freak." Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best mate, waved nonchalantly to Harry as he thudded down in the chair across the table. " What you been up to lately? How's that school treating you, what was it, Saint Brutish or something stupid like that?"

Dudley's gang sniggered behind their hands. Harry glared at Piers coldly.

_Just a Muggle…_

" It's fine. We get to beat the living daylights out of people. And we can curse whenever we want." Harry's lips twitched at the double meaning of the words, enjoying the sight of Aunt Petunia flushing even more deeply and Uncle Vernon turning a curious shade of plum.

Dudley quickly changed the subject, and from then on Harry might have been no more than a fly on the wall for all of the attention he was paid. Occasionally Dudley or one of his cronies made a jab at Harry that didn't cut any deeper than a broken wand. He kept repeating his letter to Dumbledore in his head, over and over, to stave off the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

After Aunt Petunia had served a generous helping of ice cream, which she offered to Harry stiffly, who refused with equal stiffness, the conversation subsided slightly. Harry could see Piers watching him and, feigning nonchalance, he ran his hand unhurriedly through his hair. As he did so, a flash of a memory sparked in his mind; a boy with thick-rimmed glasses and hazel eyes, sitting at a lakeside with his three best friends, watching the girls down by the water and mussing his hair periodically…

Harry could not restrain a smile of affection for his father, whom he had never known, and his spontaneous display of enjoyment seemed to awaken something inside of Piers. He pushed his half-eaten ice cream aside and rose slowly to his feet, his eyes fixed on Harry's face.

" What are you smiling about, freak?" He demanded.

" Nothin'." Harry replied offhandedly. Something inside of him squirmed with pleasure at the look on Piers' face; it was as though he was caught between one thing and another, wanting to impress Dudley by taunting Harry but having nothing to go on, nothing to use to bait Harry along.

And then Piers and Dudley exchanged a loaded glance, and Harry felt awareness prickling down the back of his neck. He straightened in his chair, his hands curling into iron fists against his knees. When he glanced down, he could clearly see the pale white scars on the back of his hand, scars that had not faded with time: _I must not tell lies_.

" So, freak." Piers lowered himself back to his seat, but he did not return to his ice cream. Instead he watched Harry, and there was something strange about his stare, something hungry, intense. " I hear from Dudley that you've got a girlfriend."

Harry blinked, his mind going momentarily blank; he opened his mouth to speak, but someone else beat him to it.

_" What did you tell them?_"

Uncle Vernon sounded panic-stricken and livid, and Dudley shrank back slightly as his father leaped form the chair and leaned toward him across the table, mustache rippling, eyes wild. Harry, stunned, stared at his Uncle open-mouthed. He had never seen Uncle Vernon act this way when Harry was taunted…in fact, he usually seemed to enjoy the entertainment. But now his expression was truly petrified and he was exchanging hasty glances with Aunt Petunia, who looked equally as thunderstruck as her husband.

" I-I did…didn't…" Dudley spluttered fearfully. " I didn't tell them…I mean, she was just a girl, I told them…he m-met her at school…you know, Saint…"

" Oh." Uncle Vernon seemed to deflate, to sink back into his chair, and his face paled slightly. " That…that's good, Dudley, carry on." And he fell silent, pretending to read the remnants of the newspaper situated at the center of the table. Harry, relieved though he had been a moment before for the pause in conversation, was now beset once again by Piers, who looked a bit less certain but still oddly intent.

" Well, freak? Got yourself a pretty little girlfriend?"

Harry didn't reply. Instead he got to his feet, carried his dinner-plate to the sink, and began to wash it, keeping his back to the others.

He heard a chair scrape backward, heard one of the boys mutter, " Geeze, Piers, what's wrong with you? Leave it, mate."

" Well, freak?" Piers repeated, a bit more fiercely this time. " What's her name?"

Harry watched the white water frothing around his hands.

_Calm…_

" Dudley says she got kidnapped."

_Professor Dumbledore, I think I'm…I'm…what did the letter say?_

He couldn't remember…

" Little freak like you, she probably…"

Before Piers could finish the sentence, there was a loud, firm knock at the door. Dudley, who had been watching his best friend advance on Harry with an almost gleeful expression, rose and spat sourly, " I'll get it, you lot stay here." Harry turned off the water and listened to his cousin lumbering to the foyer. He heard the door wrench inward, heard Dudley's voice snap, " _What do you_…oh." And then his tone changed. " _Hello_."

Harry repressed a groan.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia still seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that, whenever it was just Dudley in the house (well, just Dudley and Harry, to whom Dudley paid no mind whatsoever) there were frequent female guests about. Harry had come to recognize the tone Dudley took when faced with a beautiful girl. He wondered which one it was this time…perhaps the rather portly blond, or the skinny one that resembled Mrs. Norris, the emaciated cat belonging to Hogwarts caretaker Argus Filch…

And then Harry wondered—with a spurt of his own private glee—how Dudley would explain an unannounced female presence at this hour. He picked up a towel and began to dry his hands as he listened for the conversation in the foyer to continue.

" Hey, pretty, what can I do for you?" Dudley's voice was simpering. Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

And then a voice responded to Dudley's inquiry that made Harry literally drop the towel in surprise.

" Hello, m-my name is Hermione Granger, and I'm here to see Harry Potter."


	3. The Treachery of Lord Voldemort

_Author's Notes: And here you have it, the promised update. Things will begin to pick up a bit after this chapter, so I advise you all to hold onto your seats and please, as always, review. Thank you and enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter III: The Treachery of Lord Voldemort

* * *

Several things happened very quickly, then.

Every eye in the room swung to Harry; Uncle Vernon leaped from his seat, looking positively incensed with rage. Dudley's voice carried down the hall, suddenly sharp, " What do you want with _him?_" And Harry slipped around the massive from of his raging uncle, pelting down the hall and skidding to a halt behind Dudley, his chest heaving, unable to believe that it was possible.

But there she was; Hermione Granger, one of his best friends, standing on the Dursleys' doorstep looking rather nervous but quite normal in a simple sweater and jeans, her long, bushy brown hair tied back into a high ponytail. She was gazing at Dudley with an expression somewhere between disgust and fascination, but in the moment that her large eyes swung up to meet Harry's, the world around them seemed to disappear, and Harry only then realized, as he had not for weeks prior, that he had been so afraid that the absence of communication had meant that Ron, Hermione, and Sirius were dead.

And now here Hermione was, looking whole and well but increasingly more anxious with each passing moment, twisting her fingers together and refusing now to look at Dudley.

" Hello, Harry." She whispered.

" Hermione." Harry inclined his head to her, casting a furtive glance toward Dudley, who had clearly determined that Hermione must be a witch and seemed unable to decide if her beauty overrode his fear of her. " Why don't we, er…go upstairs? My room's a lot more private."

It took Harry a moment to realize how suggestive the words had sounded. He resisted the urge to groan as Dudley cackled madly, and then he reached out, grabbed Hermione's hand, and pulled her inside, slamming the door swiftly behind her. Nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, his hand still in hers, they moved away from Dudley, back into the kitchen, where everyone turned simultaneously to face their approach. Piers glanced around hurriedly from where he had been examining the refrigerator, and his gaze was cursory as it swept over them.

" Who the ruddy hell is _that_?" Uncle Vernon blustered, pointing one fat finger at Hermione. He seemed to have deduced that she was a witch, as his son had, but he seemed unable to reconcile that knowledge to the fact that she looked as incredibly well-washed and normal as Uncle Vernon himself did.

" Hello, sir." Hermione murmured politely, withdrawing her hand from Harry's and stepping a pace away. " I'm Hermione Granger, I'm…a friend of Harry's from school. I wanted to drop by, just to, you know, see how Harry is doing…"

" I actually just got something in the mail today from, uh, my school, do you want to see it?" Harry was thinking fast, trying to get her alone so he could question her. Hermione glanced quickly toward him, then away, and nodded. " Okay, let's go."

Everyone seemed too stunned by Hermione's unexpected arrival to make an effort to stop them; as Harry led Hermione toward the stairs, he noticed that she glanced curiously toward Piers, her eyes narrowed.

Harry did not speak again until they were safe in his bedroom, sitting on the bed, their heads inclined together.

" So?" Harry whispered as Hermione hesitated. " What's the news?"

" Nothing, really." Hermione mumbled, looking embarrassed. " I was just…you didn't say goodbye when you left the train, Ron said you were really bad off, and when you didn't write I was afraid…I was afraid maybe you'd done something rash."

" Something rash?" Harry echoed dully. He felt the spark of hope dying inside of him; he had hoped that maybe Hermione would say she cared, that she had come to get him out of this awful place…

" Yes, well…" Hermione seemed flustered, not meeting his eyes as she toyed with a loose thread on his bedspread.

" Never mind." Harry sighed. " How are the others?"

" Oh, they're fine….well, as fine as they can be," Hermione replied quickly, looking relieved. " Mrs. Weasley is really upset about, well, you know, and Ron has been really quiet all summer. I've been staying with them, trying to help out, and I think they're really grateful, but it's so strange not seeing Ginny around…"

" So you're staying at the Burrow after all?" Harry inquired listlessly, staring past Hermione, out into the deepening twilight.

" Sometimes. We go to Grimmauld every few days. I think the Order is planning to move, but they haven't said where."

" Are they…are they looking for Ginny?" Harry forced himself to speak though the words stuck like sandpaper in his already dry throat. Hermione let out a faint sound of distress.

" They're trying, Harry, but with everything that's going on there hasn't bee much _time_. Everyone has been very overworked, you should see Tonks, she looks like she hasn't slept in weeks…" Hermione explained rapidly.

" Maybe they should get more help." Harry interjected quietly, still gazing past her without really seeing.

" Who?" Hermione demanded, sounding truly desperate now. " Who else can help, Harry? The Order is comprised only of very…"

" _I could help!_" Harry uttered the words just beneath a shout, causing Hermione to jump. " I've been cooped up in here for three solid weeks, I'd be really _glad _to help out, but everyone would rather leave me here by myself, just like last summer! Whatever happened to this being a joint effort? We're in _Dumbledore's Army_, Hermione, we don't carry that title around just for show!"

" What could we _do, _Harry?" Hermione whispered. " Do you know where Ginny is? Because Mr. Weasley has been working around the clock trying to find his daughter, and no leads have turned up yet. You're not the only one who cares about Ginny, and if you ask me it seems like you're the one who's being standoffish." Hermione's tone was just a touch haughty, and Harry clenched his teeth and turned away from her.

They wiled the moments away in silence, not looking at one another, and as Harry's brief bout of temper banked he began to feel a token of remorse.

" Sorry." He muttered at last. " I shouldn't've said…"

" Don't." Hermione whispered. " _I'm _sorry. Of course you're upset, Harry, we really _have _left you out, but you have to understand that everyone wants to keep you as far away from trouble as they can. And Voldemort's at the center of this, Harry, you know he is, and he wants to kill you. And we can't let that happen."

" Right." Harry sighed. And then, eager to change the subject, he asked, " Did you read about the legislation that the new Minister is trying to pass?"

As usual, his predictions of Hermione's reaction was spot-on. Her cheeks flushed an angry crimson, and Hermione slammed her open palm onto the cushiony bed-spread, making no sound.

" It's all just _absurd!_" She spat the last word venomously. " You should see Lupin, he's very upset, he says that wearing a mark on your skin for a cause is like cursing yourself, and wearing one for a cause you don't believe in is even worse…"

Harry could just hear Lupin saying that exact thing, and he felt an unexpected rush of affection for his ex-teacher.

" What about Hagrid?" He prompted when Hermione continued to fume in silence. " Have you heard from him?"

Hermione nodded.

" He's worried, more about Grawp than about himself, I think he thinks they're gong to start branding giants, too. Which, as long as they're taking the road of absolute idiocy, breaking wizarding laws left and right, they might as well…"

Harry smiled slightly, imaging Hagrid, Hogwarts gamekeeper and the first wizard Harry had ever met, wringing his great, dirty hands together and fretting over the fate of Grawp, his full-giant half-brother.

" And…what about Sirius?" Harry forced himself to ask at last.

Hermione's reaction was unexpected. She turned away from Harry slightly and picked up a discarded pair of jeans draped over the foot of his bed. She began to fold these automatically, keeping her eyes down as she replied.

" We don't talk to Sirius anymore."

" What? Why?" Harry demanded, shocked. His mind quickly retrieved the memory of the last words he had spoken to Sirius. He knew that he had cut his godfather deeply in his anger, but he hadn't meant to alienate him from the others…

" Maybe…I shouldn't have said it like that." Hermione whispered. Then, clearing her throat and raising her voice slightly, she went on," Sirius doesn't talk to _us _anymore. I haven't said a single word to him since the end of term. I don't think anyone has. He spends almost every waking moment in his bedroom. He won't even talk to Professor Lupin. No one knows what's wrong, because he won't say, but…"

" I think it's my fault." Harry muttered, feeling a flush of shame coloring his skin. " I said some pretty stupid things to him on the train, because I was angry at myself…"

" I think he's too much like you." Hermione interrupted abruptly, her tone suddenly fierce.

" Huh?"

" I think that he's blaming himself for what happened to Ginny."

Harry shook his head.

" That's…that's completely off." Harry hissed, feeling the anger rising in him again. " He wasn't even _there!_"

" Exactly." Hermione murmured. " And by all accounts he wouldn't have been, if you and Ginny hadn't changed the past. But you did. Sirius thinks Ginny sacrificed herself to bring him back. And just like you, he has no clue how to set things right."

Harry's eyes closed involuntarily, and he pressed one fist to his still-aching forehead, feeling the scar pulsing slightly beneath his skin.

" This is a disaster." He whispered.

A long pause stretched out in the wake of his words.

" Well…" Hermione glanced around, after a moment, then rose quickly to her feet and tilted her head, seeming to be listening for something. Then, with a satisfied nod, she turned towards the door.

Harry lifted his head swiftly, then leaped lightly off of the bed to follow her, and he seized Hermione's wrist before she could exit the bedroom.

" So is that it, then? You're just going to leave?" He demanded. " Just drop in, say something, make it all better, and go back to the Weasleys'?" Anger was bubbling up inside of him, but when Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes were calm, unperturbed.

" You're coming with me, Harry." She stated firmly. " Mrs. Weasley won't like it, but it's rather obvious that leaving you here is only making things worse. So we'll go back tonight, and they can just live with you."

" Oh. Er…" Harry blinked. " I…thanks, Hermione."

" What are friends for?" Hermione's words were light, teasing, but her tone was somehow sad. The pair gazed at one another for a long moment, and then, quickly, Hermione dropped her gaze and nodded to the trunk at the foot of his bed. " Are you packed?"

And as she asked, a wonderful sense of release poured through Harry. He wanted to laugh aloud, but he simply smiled and replied, " Almost."

Side-by-side he and Hermione began to pack the trunk full of essentials, not bothering with orderliness; Harry threw his ink bottles and quills in with the soiled socks and ancient jeans and sweatshirts, and, though Hermione was careful to fold his clean clothes before packing them, she did not dissuade Harry from his more hectic mannerisms, and within an hour they had stowed everything in the trunk that would fit.

" Brilliant." Hermione murmured as—with some effort—she snapped the top of the trunk closed. " Is that everything, Harry?"

" Er…yeah." Harry replied distractedly as he gazed down at his trunk, the owl cage, and the Firebolt. " Just one thing though, Hermione…"

" What?"

" I forgot to tell my Aunt and Uncle that I'm leaving.

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth.

" Oh, my goodness, I forgot, too!" She moaned. " Oh, I hope they don't get very angry with you for just walking out…"

" I wouldn't care if they did." Harry assured her fervently. " It wouldn't stop me, anyway." Hermione gave him a feeble smile, then bent and scooped up Hedwig's cage. Balancing it expertly in her arms, she spoke around it.

" Ready?"

" As ready as I'll ever be." Harry sighed, and he picked up his trunk and Firebolt. " Let's go."

Harry didn't glance back even once as they turned off the light and left the room. He slammed the door loudly, not caring that the pictures on the walls all around rattled dangerously close to falling, and he descended the stairs at Hermione's side, head lifted purposefully.

And then, halfway down to the lower level of the house, a thought occurred to Harry for the first time. He halted, Hermione bumping into his arm, and he turned to face her curiously.

" Hermione." He began slowly. " How exactly are we supposed to get home? To the Burrow, I mean."

" Oh!" Hermione blushed a deeper shade of red than the innocent question really called for, and she fumbled slightly with Hedwig's cage, averting her eyes. " Well, I didn't really know what else to do, Harry…I needed someone to help me find you and bring you back, at least, I thought you _might _be coming back with us, so I found two someones to help us Apparate and Disapparate, you know, they were very eager for the chance…"

Horror flooded in an icy tide down Harry's neck. He dropped his trunk with a clatter onto the stairs, leaned his Firebolt against the wall, and stared at Hermione, willing himself to believe that he was only assuming…

" You brought…_Fred and George?" _He demanded in a whisper.

" Honestly, Harry, they're not really so bad! A bit of a flare for the dramatic, and they're strange, but they're good people and they wanted to help, and I seriously doubt they'll be in much danger from your family!"

" Hermione, you don't know…you didn't hear…" Harry closed his eyes briefly, remembering the disconsolate rage that had pounded through him when Dudley taunted him about Ginny. Fred and George Weasley, twins and Ron's older brothers, had teased Ginny mercilessly at Hogwarts, but they were protective of her as well. If they heard…

" Hermione." Harry spoke with his eyes still closed. " Where…are they?"

" At the front door, using those Extendable Ears. Harry, what…?"

But Harry knew what would happen a moment before it did, because suddenly Dudley was shrieking—for the benefit of amusing his friends, Harry guessed, " Yeah, Harry's little girlfriend got _kidnapped_. Little _freak_."

" Little idiot!" One of the boys chimed in.

" _Little bitch!_" Piers howled. " I hope she _dies!"_

And then Harry was running, leaping down the stairs two at a time and drawing his wand as he did so. He could see them all still in the kitchen, laughing, as he barreled toward the doorway…

A blur of black-and-red streaked from the foyer. Harry was nearly knocked backwards as a lean but muscled shape slammed sidelong into Piers, sending him crashing from his seat, onto the floor.

The kitchen exploded within a heartbeat.

Swearing, Dudley leaped to his feet, his gang all around him. Uncle Vernon bellowed, Aunt Petunia shrieked, and Harry leaped forward, crying, " Fred, _no!_"

But Fred Weasley was beyond reason; he had pinned Piers Polkiss to the floor and was punching him so hard and so fast, Harry could hardly see his fists moving.

" _Don't you DARE…" _Fred's voice was louder than all the rest, incensed, maniacal with rage, and for the first time in his life Harry feared his friend. " _Don't you DARE talk about my sister that way, you stupid, stupid Muggle bastard!_"

" Fred, let him go!" Harry commanded, sliding between two of Dudley's gang in an effort to reach Fred. He got no farther than beside his cousin, however, because at the moment Harry drew even with him, Dudley swung around and punched Harry full-on in the face, sending him reeling.

" _Harry!_" Hermione shrieked from the base of the stairs.

" What was that for?' Harry demanded thickly, blood running between his fingers from his broken nose.

" For _that!_" Dudley gestured to his best friend, still being assaulted by Fred Weasley. " Call him off! Call of your stupid friend!"

Before Harry could reply—before he could even move—he heard Hermione speaking, away from him.

" George!"

And then Harry turned and saw that George Weasley was standing behind him, face ashen, eyes wide. He was shaking, though with anger or fear Harry didn't know. But as Harry swung back around and made to push past Dudley and his friends, who seemed rooted with shock, unable to decide whether they were brave enough to get within reach of Fred's flying fists, George stepped forward and flung out an arm, catching Harry around the chest and stopping him mid-stride.

" George, what're you…?"

" Stay back, Harry." George murmured, and his voice was strange, serious in ways Harry had never heard before. " _Fred_!"

In the same moment that George spoke, a great, unearthly explosion rocked the small house. Aunt Petunia screamed in earnest as Fred was flung back against the kitchen counter and collapsed in a crumbled heap, dazed, against the tiles.

Harry removed his hands from his nose and glanced up at George, who looked neither shocked nor fearful. Instead, he looked grimly determined.

And then there was a low, resonating staggering sound, and a voice—it must have been Piers, for none of the others' lips had move—spoke into the quiet.

" _Harry Potter_."

Harry's limbs locked. He stared straight forward as Dudley's gang parted to reveal Piers—oddly slouched, eyes glazed, face dripping blood from numerous lacerations—staggering upright. His lips were curved into a twisted, devilish smile.

" _And so we meet again, Harry Potter, and with a certain satisfaction I must admit. For you cheated me of my killing, and I, you of your love. And so we are even._"

" _I knew it!_" Hermione's strangled cry was full of triumph, and she raced to stand beside Harry and George. The three raised their wands simultaneously.

" Who are you?" Harry demanded, though he feared that he already knew.

" _The Imperius Curse, such a wonderful gift to our kind, wouldn't you say, Harry?" _Piers laughed, and the sound was cold, all of the wind of winter's bane. " _I was surprised that you hadn't realized…after all, why would such a pathetic Muggle boy take such interest in your personal life?_"

" V-V-Voldemort." Hermione hissed the name, her voice shaking. " How did he…why did he…?"

" Piers?"

Dudley's voice was no more than a faint squeak as he stepped forward, extending a hand toward his closest mate. Forgetting, for a moment, his broken nose and who had caused it, Harry cried out automatically, " Dudley, no, don't…!"

There was a loud _bang_, and Dudley hit the wall beside Fred and slid to the floor. Aunt Petunia didn't scream this time—she looked near to fainting.

Piers' arm lowered back to his side, and he turned back to face Harry, his eyes oddly malicious.

" _The power to channel magic through a non-magical body using the Imperius Curse…a recent ability I've developed, and useful, don't you think?" _He snorted. " _Of course, this Muggle was particularly easy to curse—he was so very simple-minded, but I must admit I was very surprised that you didn't pick up on it before the Mudblood did…"_

" Don't call her that!" Harry and George spoke over each other, raising their wands higher.

" _What will you do, Harry Potter, kill this boy? Kill him to drive me from his body? Are you really so loathe to hear what I've come to say, that you would take an innocent life to silence me?"_

" Say it, then, and get out!" Harry spat. He was trembling with rage.

"_ Very well_." Piers' jaw hung slack for a moment, and then he continued, " _You know that I have the girl. You know that she is of value to me. And so I would ask for something of equal value in return for her."_

" What?" Harry demanded, his voice flat.

" _Ah, Potter, you come ahead of yourself_." Piers chuckled dryly. " _Not quite so soon, I think. I only need to know if you have been dreaming lately."_

" I…what?" Harry stammered, his wand arm dropping a fraction.

_" I thought so_." Piers chuckled softly. " _Then I assume you will be seeing the way made clear before long, Potter. Before long…_"

Piers' entire body began to shake violently. His hand flung back and his arms went rigid. Uncle Vernon roared with rage and fear, and as he stepped forward a voice cried out, " _Stupefy!_" Piers slammed face-first onto the flooring tiles, and Hermione's hand seized Harry's elbow, tugging him toward the foyer.

" Harry, go! Go!" She cried. And somehow Harry managed to turn away from the kitchen, thrown into instant tumult as Dudley and Piers were overcome by the others, and follow Hermione and George out into the cool twilight.

" Alright, Harry?' A voice spoke from behind him, and Harry jumped, spinning around as Fred followed him out, massaging a horrendous swelling lump on the back of his head. His fiery hair, a Weasley trademark, was stained with blood.

" I'm fine, what about you?" Harry asked, concerned.

" Just a flesh wound." Fred replied, but his voice had hardened. " I should've listened to you, George, old boy. Didn't think…couldn't imagine that that bloke was _You-Know-Who's _puppet. Glad I got to Stun him, though."

" Why did you do that?" Hermione demanded reproachfully. " You're not meant to do magic in front of Muggles, you know that very well!"

" What was I supposed to do, Hermione?" Fred sounded angry now. " You heard what Dad's been saying, you know what You-Know-Who has been learning."

" What's he learning?" Harry inquired as Fred, George, and Hermione exchanged swift glances.

" Magical Channeling." George answered at last, looking greatly disturbed. " Dad says it's one of the most forbidden arts, putting your magical self into another person's body, because it not only weakens the Magic-giver but it can kill the host, too, if the body can't handle the strain…"

" He almost killed Piers?" Harry felt sickened. He hated Piers, but not so much as to wish that sort of death on him.

" iIt's quite painful, I hear." Fred added. " Imagine, Harry, that someone poured fire in your veins and burned you from the inside out, and you'd have a death by Magical Channeling. Very, very explicit."

" Why'd you Stun him?" Harry inquired curiously.

" The host has to be fully conscious for the spell to work, otherwise the mental connection gets severed." Fred explained.

" You shouldn't have provoked him, you shouldn't have given Voldemort a reason to show himself…" Hermione was shaking her head gravely.

" Time enough to discuss that later, eh?" Fred clapped her on the back. " George, would you mind doing the honors, my head's a bit fuzzy at the moment…"

" Right-o." George replied cheerfully. Raising his wand, he cried, " _Accio trunk, Accio owl cage, Accio Firebolt!"_

Harry's meager luggage essentials flew through the partially-ajar front door, into George's hand. He promptly dropped the trunk on his foot and howled a swearword, then recovered himself enough to pass Hedwig's cage to Hermione and reach out to rest one hand on Harry's shoulder.

" Side-Along Apparating, if you're up for it." He said. " Dunno how much you know about it, but it's a bit strange in the feeling, it'll take you some time to get used to it."

" Sure." Harry shrugged, his mind elsewhere.

" Right, then." George tossed the Firebolt to Fred, who caught it while wrapping his arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulling her close. George muttered something under his breath…

And then they were flying, with the strangest sensation of being squeezed into a very tight space, like falling through a tunnel that was not wide enough to accommodate them. Harry found himself holding his breath, keeping his hand fisted on the back of George's shirt as they flew…

And then his knees hit wet turf, and Harry rolled over sideways, feeling a cold breeze undulating across his blood-stained face. He heard a hollow pop and a _thud_, and then Hermione was gasping, " Never again, oh, I _hate _Side-Along…"

" It wasn't_ that_ bad." Fred muttered, but he sounded distinctly shaky." I hope Mum finds us out here soon, because I don't think I can walk one step…"

Harry had to agree. He felt quivery and sick, the wind rushing through his ears, too loud, and he felt remarkably comfortable on the damp grass…

" _Fred? George? Hermione? _Where on earth have you…_Harry!_"

Harry recognized Mrs. Weasley's shocked voice echoing toward them across what must have been a large open space. He guessed they were on the back lawn of the Burrow, but he couldn't be certain, he didn't open his eyes for fear he would be sick…

" Harry, dear?"

Mrs. Weasley's voice was much closer, now. Groaning, biting his tongue to hold back the bile that blistered against his throat, Harry prized open his tired eyes.

Molly Weasley was hovering an inch away from him, her face contorted with worry. She was obviously surprised to see him, and she did not appear too happy to see the state of his face. Harry lifted one hand and touched his tender nose, wincing as the broken bone shifted.

" 'Lo, there, Mrs. Weasley." He mumbled. " The others rescued me."

" So it would seem." Mrs. Weasley sighed. She pulled out her wand, aimed it at Harry's face—causing him to flinch slightly—and she muttered a spell under her breath. Instantly, the pain in his nose vanished as the break mended itself. Breathing a bit easier, Harry muttered a low " Thanks."

Mrs. Weasley nodded to him curtly. Then, her face hardening, she turned away from Harry and spoke to someone he couldn't see, " If you two _ever _do anything like this again…"

And then her voice shot through three octaves as she cried, " _Fred!_"

Harry heard a horrible retching noise, and something inside of him seemed to come alive. Rolling over, he pushed himself into a sitting position just in time to see Fred collapse, blood dripping from his mouth.

" Arthur! Arthur, fetch Mad-Eye, something's wrong with Fred!" Molly shrieked in the direction of the house. Harry saw George scrambling toward his twin, looking frantic as Fred coughed, spraying blood across the grass.

" Harry!"

Hermione had crawled to his side and was grasping his hand so tightly that his fingers were numb.

" What's wrong with him?" Harry whispered.

" I think…I think Voldemort must have cursed him." Hermione's voice was barely a breath. " Oh, no, _no_…"

" What?" Harry demanded, his eyes riveted on the ghastly scene before him.

" Remember the Puking Pastilles they made for their joke shop?" Hermione whispered, nodding toward Fred and George. " This is like the same thing, only…oh, I know I read this before, when we were looking up the Polyjuice Potion in our second year…"

" Why would Voldemort curse Fred like that? He's not even a member of the Order, he wasn't hurting Voldemort at all!" Harry felt beyond worried—he was full of hot, boiling rage.

" I've been talking to Mr. Weasley about Channeling Magic, he said it's a very imprecise method because the wizard in control of the host has less power over the magic they're putting into the host's system, they can do too much or too little, demanding in large part on the circumstances in which they use the magic…Piers was being assaulted, his body must have been working in overdrive, and the adrenaline would have heightened the magic, maybe changed it…"

" Poor Mrs.. Weasley." Harry murmured. _First Ginny, now Fred…_

Harry heard footsteps pounding toward them across the yard; glancing over his shoulder, he saw Mr. Weasley racing to join them, with Mad-Eye Moody stumping along behind him. Remus Lupin was trailing, looking distressed and somewhat interested but reserved, as always. When he saw Harry and Hermione crouched on the grass, his expression changed abruptly; he looked infinitely more alert, and he moved swiftly to stand beside them,

" You two, come with me." He ordered. " And you, George."

" No, I'm staying." George's voice was pitched high with fear, and he was cradling Fred's nearly-unconscious body in his arms. " I want to know…"

" Fine." Lupin interrupted quickly. He seized Harry beneath the elbow and pulled him upright; Hermione scrambled to her feet beside them, and then Lupin swung around and marched back toward the Burrow, towing Harry, with Hermione following close behind.

The moment they were out of earshot of the Weasleys, Lupin released Harry and stepped into his path, turning to face him with arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

" Tell me what happened."

" Hermione, Fred, and George came to get me from my Aunt and Uncle's house." Harry explained wearily. " We were just about to leave when one of my cousin's friends—Piers Polkiss—made a stupid remark about Ginny. Fred went after him, but Piers wasn't himself, he was being possessed by Voldemort…Fred and George called it Magical channeling…and he said he wanted to get something from me in exchange for Ginny…"

Lupin was studying Harry with a calculating gaze. For once, Hermione was silent, watching them.

Then Lupin stepped toward Harry and embraced him. And with his mouth close to Harry's ear, he whispered, " How long since you last slept?"

Harry's reply was reflexive beyond his surprise that Lupin even knew.

" Five days."

Lupin stepped back, his brow furrowed. He looked utterly upset.

" Inside, you two. Ron is upstairs."

And without another word, he brushed past them and headed back to join the others, clustered around Fred's body.

Harry stared after him, wondering…

" Harry, come on, we need to tell Ron…" Hermione was pulling on his hand again, and Harry followed her obediently across the wide, sloping lawn, up the back porch steps, and into a warm house that spelled faintly of cinnamon.

Harry paused just inside the back door, inhaling deeply, realizing only as he did that the unique difference between the Weasleys' kitchen and the Dursleys' was that the kitchen of Number Four, Privet Drive always smelled of soap and stank of cleanliness. Here, things seemed more natural, fresher, in a way. It was obvious that people actually _lived _here.

" I missed this place." Harry murmured, running his hand affectionately along the rutted wooden tabletop as they passed.

" It feels like home." Hermione whispered.

" You're back."

The voice that spoke was flat, almost bored, and Harry could hardly believe it came from the mouth of his best friend. But when he glanced sharply upward, he saw Ron leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching them; his fiery red hair had grown long in recent months, and it was obvious that he hadn't bothered to have it cut yet; it hung in his eyes and framed his pale, freckled face, which was contorted into a frown.

" Hey, mate." Harry greeted cautiously, unsure of flat look in Ron's eye. " Listen, something's happened to Fred, he's…"

" I saw from my window." Ron interrupted curtly.

For a moment, he and Harry continued to watch one another, with Hermione standing between them, head swiveling slowly from side to side, her face full of trepidation.

And then Ron stepped forward, clasped Harry's hand, pulled him forward, and embraced him tightly. Harry returned the hug with all of the force he could muster, and he felt, strangely, as though some sort of communication passed between Ron and himself in that moment of contact; memories of the long walk home from the train flooded over him, and Harry closed his eyes.

Hermione laughed softly, breathlessly, after a moment, and then she wrapped her arms around them both and pressed close against them

" I'm glad you're here, Harry." Ron murmured, his voice slightly broken.

" Yeah." Harry whispered. " Me, too."


	4. A Weasle's Tale

_Author's Notes__: I apologize for the lack of frequency in updates since returning from camp, I've been very busy, but I hope to regain some normalcy and inspiration in my life so as to continue updating with more promptness in the near future. Readers, please continue to read, and reviewer(s), please continue to review! Thank you and, as always, enjoy!_

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Chapter IV: A Weasel's Tale

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not linger long in the kitchen; after several moments of awkward embracing they broke apart and trooped soundlessly upstairs, agreeing more by silent knowledge than by communication the need to be alone. Harry's mind barely registered the familiarity of the Weasley's humble but warm abode; his feelings of satisfaction at having escaped Privet Drive were overshadowed by the circumstance surrounding his getaway.

The moment they were all three holed up in Ron's room—Harry noted that the drapes were drawn about the thin-paned window, barring the sight of the goings-on with the rest of the Order—Ron threw himself down on the bed and demanded, in a voice that was quite empty of emotion, " What happened?"

Harry launched instantly into as detailed a description of the events at Privet Drive as he could, grateful for the distraction on his thoughts which had, for a moment, begun to wander over the pronounced absence of Ginny. Harry watched closely as the distance drained away from Ron's face with the progression of the story, a bit of color seeping back into his cheeks, and he actually flinched when Harry reached the part about Voldemort speaking through Piers' body.

" Blimey." Ron muttered as Harry concluded the grim tale with Piers' near demise, and he ran his hand distractedly through his fiery red hair, glancing into the far corner of the room where Hermione sat, perched on a stack of old schoolbooks, staring anxiously toward the closed door. " Blimey," Ron repeated, his gaze swinging back to Harry, " That's really off. I knew that You-Know-Who was sick, but I didn't know he was _that _sick…"

" Neither did I." Harry replied, his tone weary. " But I guess it's not below him, then, is it? He hates Muggles, he wouldn't count it as much of a loss if Piers died…neither would I, for that matter."

" _Harry!_" Hermione snapped, swiveling about to glare at him reproachfully.

" Hey, I've a reason to hate him, haven't I? He used to beat me up at school!" Harry defended himself. " Besides, you know me, you know I was only joking…"

Hermione simply wrinkled her nose and turned away again.

" Still, it's a bit odd, isn't it?" Ron mused, seeming oblivious to their argument as he plucked at a threadbare patch on his bedspread. " If he wanted to say something about Ginny…" Ron's voice contorted oddly around her name, and Hermione glanced round at him with concern. " Why didn't he just say it right there in front of those Muggles? What difference would it make?"

" Who knows?" Harry sighed. " I s'pose I'll find out soon enough what he's after, anyway. No doubt it'll be something dark and forbidden, or else impossible."

They descended as one into a gloomy silence; after several moments, the door creaked an inch inward, and Crookshanks, Hermione's long-furred ginger cat, crept lightly in to join them. He leaped into Hermione's lap, completely ignoring Harry, who sat cross-legged with his back to the wall, and Ron, who was lying crossways along his bed, arms tucked behind his head, his entire lanky frame rigid with intent.

Silently, they listened for some movement from downstairs. With each passing moment Harry's tension grew, until he felt he would have liked to have leaped to his feet and begun to pace. But Hermione and Ron seemed just as on edge as he was, fidgeting nervously and casting wary glances toward the door every now and then, and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that the sound of his restless footfalls would only serve to heighten the amount of anxious anticipation bubbling in the air. Like a worried blister, it might burst, leaving their tempers flaring high, and somehow Harry felt that he could not stand to fight with his two best friends just now.

After what seemed like hours of silence—-though perhaps only minutes had elapsed—Ron spoke up, in a tone that suggested he was simply looking for a topic of conversation with which to distract himself.

" So, Harry, have you, er…talked to Sirius lately?"

Harry stiffened automatically at the name, exchanging a brief but loaded glance with Hermione, and then his gaze sought out a knotted rut in the floorboards beneath his legs and he refused to look up from it.

" No, I haven't." He worked to keep his tone nonchalant, but he felt that Ron, who knew him better than anyone else, was not fooled.

" Neither have we." Ron sighed. " Bit strange, isn't it, him staying out of contact? But I guess Hermione's right, after all, maybe he's feeling guilty about…"

Harry felt that familiar wrench of agony beneath his sternum as the conversation veered toward Ginny, and he cast his mind about desperately for another, less painful subject matter on which to build a conversation.

" Have the pair of you received your O.W.L.s yet?" Harry inquired at last, relieved to have settled upon a topic that was likely to cause him minimal sensations of heartache.

Hermione flushed deep scarlet at Harry's words and began to run her fingers jerkily through Crookshanks' long, fluffy fur. When her fingernails snagged on a particularly ratty knot in his coat, Crookshanks hissed indignantly and sprang from her lap, marching away to curl up against Harry's thigh.

" No, we haven't." Hermione replied at last, her voice slightly breathless. " But it'll be any day now, I'm so worried, I just hope I didn't fail…"

" _You? Fail?" _Ron snorted, and there was a hint of his old liveliness to the words as he rolled over, propping his temple against his hand. " Come _on_, Hermione, everyone knows you're the smartest witch in our class, I'll bet an entire month's worth of Divination classes that you'll beat the rest of us out by a mile…"

" You hate Divination, that's hardly a proper betting standard." Hermione retorted, but she looked flattered and somewhat reassured nonetheless.

Ignoring them both, Harry got to his feet—disturbing Crookshanks as he did so—and trudged wearily to the window, sweeping back the tattered draperies and leaning so close to the window that his breath fogged before him.

It seemed as though all manner of vapor and cloud and night had pressed itself directly against the opposite side of the glass, revealing nothing more than a sea of endless pitch to Harry's exhausted, searching eyes. He could make neither heads nor tails of the world beyond the window, and he wondered, vaguely, if this was all there was…just darkness and bleak, empty hopelessness.

" Ron, Hermione?" He spoke their names quickly, feeling a sudden need to be assured of their lingering presence behind him.

" Yes, Harry"' Hermione replied sociably but tiredly.

" D'you think…?"

But before Harry could voice his questions regarding the lightless night beyond the glass, the door shuddered inward loudly, and Harry ducked from behind the drapes as Molly Weasley slipped into the room and closed the door softly behind her.

" How's Fred?" Ron demanded, sitting upright at once. Crookshanks, who had been stalking tentatively toward him, gave up on them all and stumped hurriedly from the room, tail whipping indignantly.

" He's better." Mrs. Weasley allowed, though the dark shadows beneath her eyes betrayed the worry that her tone belied. " We managed to stem the bleeding, but your father's wondering whether taking him to St. Mungo's would be best…it's still up in the air, we'll see how he's fairing in the morning, and there'll be someone with him at all times…"

" I can take a watch." Harry offered automatically; though weariness was creeping over him in a numbing tide, he felt too restless to sleep.

" Nonsense, Harry, dear, you're dead on your feet." Mrs. Weasley replied curtly, smoothing the front of her apron lightly with hands that trembled just a bit. " You'll need a good night's sleep to go off tomorrow…and you, Hermione, you've had quite a night…"

" I'm fine, I'm not tired." Harry interjected loudly. When the others turned to gaze at him curiously, he explained rapidly, " I swear I'll be fine, Mrs. Weasley, I won't stay up too late."

" Oh, then…" Molly's cheeks colored slightly. " Very well, Harry, but be careful…don't led Fred move about too much, we're not sure of what might restart the bleeding…"

" Right." Harry nodded vaguely, his mind drifting, recalling the last few moments they had spent in his Aunt and Uncle's kitchen…And he forced himself to ask, " What'll happen to my Aunt and Uncle? And Dudley? They saw Fred and Piers…I mean Voldemort…using magic. Will the Ministry have to Confund them, or something?"

Mrs. Weasley looked acutely sympathetic, and Harry's uneasiness evaporated to be replaced by cold defensiveness as he caught the pitying light in her eyes; he _hated _being pitied, and Mrs. Weasley should know better than most that his concern was more for Fred and George being tried for misuse of magic than for the future of his relatives.

" I can't say for certain, Harry." Molly admitted, her voice soft. " We'll have to ask Arthur, he might know. In the meantime, why don't you three come down the kitchen? I've just put supper on the table, and you all look like you could do with something to eat…"

" That's always Mum's solution." Ron muttered. " If no one's dead, then the problem's not so big that food can't fix it."

Hermione stifled an off-pitch giggle behind her hand.

The house was unusually quiet as they descended back to the ground floor; hardly a sound wafted through the high, airy chambers, and Harry felt dread creeping across his skin; he hadn't seen the Burrow looking so deserted since he had first come here years ago…

Mrs. Weasley led them as far as the sitting room, and then turned, pressing one finger dramatically to her lips. Satisfied after a moment that they would not follow her, Mrs. Weasley pivoted on heel and disappeared through the sitting room door. Harry leaned forward and listened intently, but he could discern nothing absolute beyond the strained swirl of voices. Frustrated, Harry resisted the urge to kick the door.

_Hurry up…_

After several moments, the door swung inward, and tall, balding Arthur Weasley emerged; his face looked drawn with fatigue and his eyes shadowed with uncertainty. He paused briefly to clap a hand on Harry's shoulder, and then he slouched off toward the kitchen. Harry remained rooted to the spot, straining to peer past the door shifting on its hinges, to catch a glimpse of Fred…

" Dinner, Harry." Mrs. Weasley spoke firmly, materializing in the doorway and blocking his view. " You'll need your strength if you're going to take watch."

" Okay." Harry agreed mechanically, and he turned to follow her from the room. As he did so, Ron stepped away, his head swiveling toward the sitting room.

" I-I'll take first watch." He volunteered, his voice quavering. " I just ate…"

" Fine." Molly sighed, all sense of authority draining from her as she trudged toward the kitchen. Hermione and Harry exchanged a worried glance, then fell in at her side, walking in silence to the kitchen.

They found the table absolutely crowded; Mad-Eye and Lupin were there, as was Tonks, Sirius's cousin, and Arthur with George at his side. George looked whipped, there was no better word for it, and he was staring down at a piece of chocolate on a small dish before him with listless eyes. Tonks was rubbing his shoulder gently but awkwardly, her head bent close to his, and as Harry passed them, on his way to the nearest empty seat, he caught a stream of breathless words issuing from Tonks's trembling lips, " He's okay, George, your brother's going to be fine…"

Harry felt sick to his stomach as he dropped down onto the wooden chair and buried his face in his hands. The horror and anger at what had transpired that evening had faded and bled into a terrible guilt that seemed to be eating him alive. Harry's eyes burned and his heart ached. He was so tired…

" Here." The voice that spoke near his head was quiet; Harry lifted his face away form his sweaty palms as Lupin pushed a mug of frothing butterbeer toward him. " Drink it."

Harry obeyed, hardly tasting the drink as it slid down his parched throat. He downed the whole of the glass in two gulps, then stared at the last miserable dredges in the bottom, swirling them around the base of the mug disinterestedly.

" Harry."

He glanced wearily up.

Lupin was leaning toward him across the table now, his face intent but haggard, and Harry realized that, as none of the others were paying them any mind, now was the perfect time for him to inquire as to Lupin's knowledge of his sleeplessness.

But before Harry could open his mouth, before he could speak at all, Mrs. Weasley was setting a cold sandwich before him, and urging him to eat; again, Harry obeyed without thinking, and while he was distracted Lupin was engaged in conversation by Tonks—who, it seemed, had given up on trying to comfort the inconsolable George— and the fleeting opportunity to question him was lost.

As Harry consumed the chicken-salad sandwich, he felt strength flooding back into his limbs. He hadn't realized until that moment how hungry he was, but he could see that Mrs. Weasley was infinitesimally cheered when he asked for a second sandwich. George, he couldn't help noticing, did not touch his food at all, but simply sat staring at the wall, as though he could see through it, to the sitting room where his twin and his younger brother were sheltered.

" Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione's tentative voice reached Harry through the dull murmur of interlacing voices. He wrenched his eyes away from George's creased, weary face as Hermione leaned across Mad-Eye to speak to Ron's father.

" Mr. Weasley, did George tell you what…what happened at Privet Drive?" Hermione's voice was careful, and Harry knew that she was attempting to dodge the subject of Fred, fearing, perhaps, that she would upset the Weasleys.

Harry hid his rush of admiration for her tactfulness by moving in to conquer his second sandwich.

Arthur Weasley leaned back in his chair, arms folded, and eyed Hermione speculatively, but not unkindly. Harry wondered if he could guess what she was playing at…he himself had a faint idea…

" Yes." Mr. Weasley confirmed at last. " George told me about the Muggle boy being possessed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Mr. Weasley's voice was strained with distress; Harry knew that Arthur Weasley had a certain fondness for Muggles and greatly disliked the wizarding prejudices against them.

" Yes." Hermione plowed on, sounding a bit more lively. " Yes, about that…F-Fred and George called it Magical Channeling. They said you knew something about it…could you maybe tell us what you know?"

The subdued chatter humming about the table died away almost at once. Lupin and Tonks pulled away from one another with curious and slightly wary expressions; Mad-Eye, who had been silently watching all the talk-about without participating, grew exceptionally still; both of his eyes, magical and non-magical alike, were fixed on Arthur. Even George turned to face his father, and Mrs. Weasley leaned against the countertop, watching the proceedings with some unreadable emotion in her eyes.

Mr. Weasley ran one hand shakily through what was left of his fast-fading hair, and then he smiled, with what seemed like an enormous effort.

" It's a very complicated thing, Magical Channeling, and difficult to explain." Arthur exchanged a hasty look with his wife, and then turned back to meet Hermione's alert, expectant gaze. " I want your word, all of you, that what is said here tonight does not leave these walls. Understood?"

" Yes." Was the chorused agreement.

" Very well." Mr. Weasley sighed heavily, after a moment of gazing around the room. " The art…if you could really call it an _art_…of Magical Channeling was discovered nearly a century ago by a wizard known as Gaunt. Rumor has it, as there are no _solid _accounts, that hecame across the power to control Muggles by inserting a bit of his magical self into them when he was caught in a duel with a powerful wizard in broad daylight. He used a Muggle as a shield via Imperius, and, well…his desperation in the moment acted as a floodgate for this new ability."

" How does it work, exactly, Arthur?" Tonks interrupted, her eyes shining with interest. " I heard it mentioned when I was in training to become an Auror, I've always wondered…"

" It's no simple thing." Mr. Weasley interrupted her. " But I'll try to _explain_ it simply." He smiled weakly at Harry, who forced himself to return the gesture. " To channel one's magical self into another body is an extremely dangerous act for both the wizard and the Muggle…or Squib…that he is performing on. Squibs are in considerably less danger of dying from the strain, however, since there is still a bit of magic in their veins, even if they can't use it. Muggles, however…well, the strain of magic on their bodies can often be too much for them to handle. They can succumb quite easily."

" Fred and George also told us…" Hermione glanced quickly toward Harry, then away. " That a conscious connection has to be made between the wizard and the…host."

" Yes." Mr. Weasley was talking more freely, now, perhaps not thinking about Fred as much, and Harry felt his alertness rising as the tale continued. " Yes, they're right. A wizard cannot use Magical Channeling on an unconscious body, it simply won't work…no one is quite sure why. And even then, after the connection is established, it is a very dangerous art to perform…the wizard drained on the one hand, the Muggle stricken to his soul on the other. The use of Channeling was outlawed in 1925, but it seems that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named learned of it…somehow…"

Mr. Weasley fell into a brooding silence. Harry and Hermione exchanged another fleeting look, and then Harry straightened in his chair, and spoke, choosing his words carefully.

" Another thing, Mr. Weasley…when we were at my Aunt and Uncle's house, it was…it was Piers…the boy possessed by Voldemort…" He ignored the way all of them except for Hermione and Lupin flinched at the name, and went on, " Who cursed Fred. So I'm wondering…what can you tell us about that?"

" I'm sure the boys filled you in already." Mr. Weasley sighed. " But the gist of it is that the wizard who uses Channeling has much less control over their own powers when they're flowing through the body of another. If the host is threatened in any way, then they, Muggle or not, can use the powers of the wizard to defend themselves…generally by the wizard's bodily consent, though _that _particular theory is still up in the air."

" So when Piers cursed Fred…" Hermione spoke, slowly.

" Judging by how powerfully the spell worked, it must have been You-Know-Who's doing, and not the instinctual reaction of the boy, who as being attacked, I hear." Mr. Weasley's voice shook slightly.

Harry transferred his gaze to the scarred tabletop, thinking.

" I've been wondering something else, Mr. Weasley." He spoke, after a moment.

" Yes, Harry?"

" Well, it's kind of strange, isn't it, how much Voldemort has been going at your family? First his snake attacked you at the Ministry, then they kidnapped Ginny…" Harry's throat swelled around her name. " And now Fred…"

There was a prolonged silence in the wake of his words that threatened to become uncomfortable. Harry glanced up in time to see Lupin and Mr. Weasley exchanging a loaded glance, while Tonks fiddled with the ends of her bright pink hair and Mad-Eye took a long draught from the flask always tied at his hip.

" What?" Harry demanded, meeting Hermione's bewildered gaze across the table.

" That's just…that's what happens in war, Harry." Arthur Weasley replied quickly. " If you're fighting…you lose things…things that will make you wish you hadn't been fighting in the first place…"

" This isn't a war."

George's voice was so quiet, Harry hardly heard him. But the others turned at once to watch him, curiosity burning in their eyes, and so Harry did as well.

" This isn't a war." George went on, barely whispering. " It's a vendetta. Voldemort came back. We made him angry. Now he's going to take everything we care about…every bit of it…until we can't fight him anymore."

Harry had never heard George sounding so hopeless, so devoid of lively cheer. It was as though the attack on his twin had demolished a bit of his soul—the bit that was always smiling and lighthearted and fearless.

" He'll hit us where it hurts most." George continued, gazing down at the tabletop, his voice soft but somehow hard-edged. " Because that's what he knows best. And we all know where he's leading up to, because there's only one place and only one way this can end." And as he spoke, George's eyes swung to Harry, and settled on him. His gaze was like that of a man who had seen too much, in too little time.

Harry's heart began to race.

" How? How's it going to end?"

" Now _how_, Harry, not how." George shook his head. " Not how, but _where_?"

" That's _enough_."

Molly Weasley's voice was thunderous, whipping through the brief silence, and Harry jumped. George leaned away from him, and Mrs. Weasley pushed herself between George and Tonks and began to speak very quickly into her son's ear.

" Right, then." Mr. Weasley got to his feet, looking strained. " Harry, you offered to take a watch by Fred's side, I think you'd better do that now…we'll send someone to relieve you in a few hours' time…"

" Yeah." Harry replied vaguely, his eyes still on George. His pulse was pounding in his wrists.

One-by-one, the others rose, and bade Harry goodnight in subdued voices. As the room emptied, Harry found himself still unable to move, his body frozen to the spot, until it was only him and Hermione left standing, watching each other with the table between them.

" What was _that _all about?" Hermione demanded, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual with fear.

" I dunno." Harry shook his head. " I think George knows…I think he knows something about Ginny, maybe. I think they all know, but they don't want to tell us."

" Why not?" Hermione sounded truly perplexed.

" Who knows?" Harry shrugged. " Might be something dangerous…might be the reason everything's going wrong with the Weasleys. I think I was right, I think there's something else going on here…first Mr. Weasley gets attacked, then they take Ginny, then Voldemort curses Fred…"

" But, if their family is being targeted, then that means…" Hermione's voice trailed away in horror.

" _Ron_." They spoke the name simultaneously.

" Oh, no, _no_." Hermione sank back into her chair, her hand over her mouth, her eyes glazed. " What if they come after him next? What if Voldemort tries to use him to get to you? What if…?"

" Stop." Harry interrupted her firmly, though each word she spoke expressed his own fears. " We might not even be right, Hermione. Maybe it _is _just coincidence that the Weasleys are taking so many hits nowadays…maybe it's just because they're at the center of the order, in Dumbledore's inner circle…"

" Maybe." Hermione echoed weakly.

A pause stretched between them; Harry's hands gripped the tabletop so firmly, his palms began to ache; the skin stretched raw over the scar on the back of his hand, reading, _I must not tell lies_.

" Well." Hermione spoke at last, her voice a token stronger. " I'm going off to bed. I-I think I'll take a shift watching over Fred tomorrow." She got to her feet, stood awkwardly for a moment, and then hurried from the kitchen, vanishing out of sight.

Harry lingered for several minutes in the deserted, quiet kitchen, listening to the comings and goings of his own breaths, and then he turned and followed Hermione from the room, through the swinging door and into the sitting room.

When Harry stepped into the sitting room, his first thought was that it seemed almost deserted; there was very little light, save for the thin beams of moonshine arcing through the large window opposite him, and for a moment he stood in absolute stillness and silence, waiting for his vision to adjust.

And then he heard it; a voice was speaking softly, raggedly, into the quiet gloom, a voice that was unmistakably Ron's.

" And…d'you remember that time when you turned my stuffed bear into a spider? I thought Mum was going to blow a blood vessel, she was so mad…" Ron's voice caught around a shaky laugh. " And then that _stupid _charm you and George taught me right before I started first year…made me think I could turn Scabbers yellow…prats."

Harry leaned against the wall, holding himself rigidly still, unwilling to disrupt this private moment. He had never heard Ron sound so terrified, so broken—sitting beside his brother, who was hovering near death's doorstep, Ron looked no more powerful than Dudley's gang had when they stood before the terrifying power of Voldemort.

Several minutes passed in absolute, surreal silence. When it became obvious that Ron had run out of things to say, Harry steeled himself and stepped from the shadows, into the shafts of moonlight slicing through the window.

" Ron?" He whispered.

The dark, lanky shape of Ron shifted suddenly, and Harry could see that his friend was kneeling beside the high-backed sofa at the center of the room, which was back-on to Harry. Ron was clutching something in his hand, and, when he glanced up, his expression was one of mingled surprise and defiance.

" Hi." He greeted, hoarsely. " Did you hear…?"

" Not a word." Harry lied firmly. Ron looked acutely relieved.

" Oh…okay, then."

He dropped his head, and Harry, sensing consent in the movement, walked tentatively around the couch to stand at Ron's shoulder. He squinted downward at the bundle of blankets splayed across the couch…and felt literally sick.

Fred was lying beneath a heap of comforters piled so high, they nearly topped the back of the couch. He was shivering slightly, his eyes closed, his fiery red hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. A faint trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, down his chin; he was pale as death, paler than anyone Harry had ever seen, but he was suddenly reminded of Voldemort's ashen pallor…

" How is he?" Harry whispered, though he rather thought that his eyes told him everything he needed to know. Still, he wanted to hear Ron talk—to hear _something _beyond the uneven rasping of Fred's breathing, and he had to admit, if only to himself, that the sight of Ron down on one knee, clutching his older brother's hand, made him feel terribly isolated…an outside witness to a terrible tragedy.

Ron made an odd shrugging motion in response to Harry's question, and the movement nearly unbalanced him.

" The same, I suppose." He muttered. " I was hoping Hermione would show up with some book that'd tell us what's wrong with him…"

" Time enough for that later." Harry interrupted quickly. " You look exhausted. Go to bed. I can take a shift."

" Are…are you sure?" Ron inquired, glancing around with shadowed eyes. " You just got here, you aren't tired, are you?"

" I don't sleep." Harry murmured, kneeling beside Ron. " Besides, I couldn't sleep here. It makes me think of Ginny too much." The explanation escaped him unbidden, and Harry suddenly felt as though he had confessed a terrible crime to someone with the power to punish him for it. He glanced sidelong at Ron, but his friend looked nothing so much as agonized.

" Yeah…yeah, I know what you mean." Ron whispered. " I can't stop thinking about her…about what those _gits _might be doing to her…"

An uncomfortable silence hung between them, as Harry tried to fend off the images that Ron's words had conjured in his fatigued mind.

" Right." Ron sighed, after several moments. " If anything changes…if he wakes up, or…you know…you'll come get me, won't you?"

" Absolutely." Harry assured him. " Just go, get some sleep."

" Right." Ron repeated, though the single word was distorted around a massive yawn. " Right." He released Fred's hand—which fell limply against the side of the couch—got to his feet, clapped Harry gently on the shoulder, and then departed. A faint beam of light from the hallway pooled beyond the door as it swung open beneath Ron's hand, then vanished as he did; the semidarkness returned.

Harry settled back onto the threadbare rug, watching attentively as Fred slumbered; it hurt Harry desperately to be so powerless to help, but he knew of no spell or charm to combat whatever Fred's infliction was, and he was an underage wizard besides…his skills would be of no use here.

The minutes fled past; the moonlight shivered sideways across the floor. Harry watched a fly twirling crazily against the windowpane, then grew bored of this and began to count backwards from one hundred…anything to keep his mind off of Ginny, in this place where her presence felt so pronounced…

An hour passed; Harry felt no more exhausted than ever he had, and Fred did not stir, save for the occasional jerking of his limbs, the convulsing of his body that brought a fresh trickle of blood to his lips. Overcome with pity, Harry used the sleeve of his own much-worn shirt to wipe Fred's face clean, and then he laid back flat on the floor, arms tucked behind his head, and watched as the shadows of the tree limbs outside the house moved noiselessly across the ceiling…

It was nearing half-past one, judging by the position of the moon, which Harry had learned to calculate during Astrology classes at Hogwarts, when a soft knock at the door roused him from a state of near-inertia; he had not been sleeping, not truly, merely sliding in and out of a state of restless semi-consciousness, his thoughts revolving from Ginny to Fred to Sirius and back again, and he leaped completely upright at the sound of a fist hammering against wood.

" Who's there?" Harry demanded softly, his heart pounding. He had half a mind to reach for his wand, but thought better of it; he didn't want to do something rash in a volatile burst of emotion.

His moment's pause of contemplation served him well; the voice that responded to his summons was quiet and familiar.

" It's just me, Harry."

" Professor Lupin?" Harry had no explanation for his relief…only that his many sleeplessness nights, tallying six now, were driving him absolutely mad with nerves. He was trembling fit to burst as Lupin stepped into the room, keeping well to the shadows, and circled around the couch to sit leaning against its arm, his serious gray eyes fixed on Harry, who sank back to his knees on the torn and ragged rug.

For a moment, teacher and student regarded one another, and Harry felt all the more a child beneath Lupin's wise, piercing eyes. Vaguely, he wondered what his ex-professor was seeing in him…wondered what lies and pretenses those eyes were stripping away…

" Can't sleep?" Lupin murmured at last, and his voice was cuttingly loud in the near-silence. Harry flinched—again—and then turned away to glance at Fred, who remained relatively still and silent in sleep. Without meeting Lupin's penetrating gaze, Harry shook his head.

" Can't you?" He couldn't help adding. A sidelong look revealed to him that Lupin was smiling indulgently, a secret shining in his eyes.

" It's my turn to watch." He explained, gesturing to Fred.

" Oh."

Silence hung between them as Harry marshaled his scattered thoughts, attempting to conjure the proper words to voice the questions burning against the back of his throat. He watched Lupin watching Fred, saw the creases of worry that lined the face of a man who should have looked so much younger…and he felt an unexpected rush of affection for his ex-professor. Perhaps he and Lupin were more alike than he had ever realized…both outcasts in their own right, bearing the marks of a curse neither of them had wished for…and now they were both being hunted, searching for some form of solace, for redemption, a way to unweave the tangled web that hemmed them in at all sides…

" Professor?" Harry blurted the word without thinking, and Lupin turned, his eyes calm but questioning, to look at him.

" Yes, Harry?"

" What do you know about my…about how I'm not sleeping?"

Lupin's face shifted into the first real smile Harry had seen him wear in quite some time. Leaning his head back against the armrest of the couch, Lupin offered Harry a slightly superior look that reminded him vaguely of Hermione.

" Did you truly think, Harry, that no one was watching you? That we would just abandon you this summer, as you thought we did during the last? No," Lupin shook his head. " I suppose you would have every right to believe us unconcerned of your fate…after all, we haven't been in touch…"

" How come?" Harry pounced on this invitation to another uncomfortable subject, his voice growing slightly louder. " Why didn't you write me? You saw what happened on the train, you know what the Death Eaters are capable of…"

" Of course I know, Harry." In contrast to Harry's rising tones, Lupin was speaking more quietly. " That's why we weren't writing you. Because someone, somehow…we think it was Dumbledore…put some sort of charm on your Aunt and Uncle's house, and the Death Eaters can't seem to find it. We couldn't risk an owl being intercepted, disclosing your location. We were protecting you…"

" What if I don't _need _protecting?" Harry demanded, feeling anger bubbling up inside of him. How _dared_ they treat him like a child, making all of the decisions about his life over his head, expecting him to just sit quietly aside? " What if I want to fight?"

" You don't know what you're asking, Harry." Lupin murmured.

" Yeah, I think I do!" Harry snapped.

" You _don't_." Lupin's voice was strained. " Whatever you've heard about war, Harry, whatever you've read, it's a filthy _lie_. There is no glory in war, no bright and shining future. Look at Fred." He gestured to the unconscious heap of blankets on the couch. " _That _is war. That's all there is…bloodshed and grief and fear, and the faint hope that maybe, someday, all of the fighting will be worth something."

Lupin passed a hand over his gray-cast face, and he looked suddenly a hundred years older.

" Peter Pettigrew…Sirius, for a time, while he was in Azkaban…and your parents, Harry. Those are just a few of the people we've lost to this war. Now Ginny is in the hands of the enemy and Fred might not even live to see dawn." Lupin shook his head. " There _is no glory in war_, Harry. We fight because we must…because it's what must be done for us to _survive. _But there is always a price to pay…sometimes, it's far too high."

Harry's mind rebelled against the implications of Lupin's words, but somehow they slipped past the barrier erected around his mind. His eyes were filled with hazy visions of Ginny being tortured, Sirius falling back through the veil, Ron and Hermione collapsing, surrounded by an aura of green light…

" It won't happen." Harry stated resolutely, shaking his head. " I won't let them die." His hands clenched into fists against his knees. Lupin followed the motion with shadowed eyes, and then half-smiled, sadly.

" You can't save everyone, Harry."

" But I can save _them_." Harry insisted, desperately.

" You sound like James." Lupin commented wryly. " He said the same thing when Sirius sent Snape down into the Shrieking Shack after me…'Don't be a hero, James!' Sirius told him, and your father replied, 'I can save him!'"

" And he did." Harry pointed out stubbornly.

" War and the mistakes of a foolish friend are two very different things, Harry, two wrongs that are also righted in very different ways." Lupin's voice was gentle, and something about his knowing tone incensed Harry. In one swift movement Harry was on his feet, hands balled into iron fists at his side.

" I'm not going to lose Ron or Hermione or anyone else to Voldemort!"

" The enemy's reach is farther and more in-depth than you know, Harry. His treachery is everywhere…the Ministry, the Muggle world, maybe even Hogwarts…" Lupin shook his head. " I never knew…I don't think any of us had any idea…that the second war would be this terrible. Spies on both sides…and some of the lines are being blurred…"

" Well, I think it's time we un-blurred them, then! I think it's time we stop running and _stop _hiding in the shadows. Voldemort's not afraid to show his true colors, why should we be any different?"

" Because more is at stake for us than just interference if Voldemort discovers who is part of the Order!" Lupin's voice was chiding, a reprimand veiled only dimly in his words. " _Think_, Harry…Voldemort's only fear is to be hindered in his rise to power. But we…we care for more than just ourselves. That is a strength and a weakness in its own right…it gives us something to live for, and something to die for."

Harry stared at him, fighting against the hot anger bubbling inside of him, fighting against the part of him that wanted to run from the Burrow, to confront their enemies head-on and avenge all that had been lost…

Lupin scrambled awkwardly to his feet and rested his hands on Harry's shoulders, catching and holding Harry's eyes, gray staring into green, and Harry felt strangely as though Lupin was trying to tell him something more than words could express…

" Do you understand, Harry?" Lupin demanded hoarsely. " I would _die _for any one of you. Every member of the Order would do the same. _That _is what it means to be a friend, to be a true wizard."

In this dimly lit room, with Fred convulsing slightly on the couch beside them and Lupin looking as pale and haggard as one of the beyond, Harry found, suddenly, that he could not bear to hear any talk of death.

" I'm going to bed." He muttered, shrugging off Lupin's hands. " Good night."

Lupin did not protest as Harry stormed from the room, letting the door slam shut rather loudly behind him.

Harry did not, however, go to bed, as he had said he would; instead he wandered blindly through the familiar hallways, entering whatever rooms were accessible, pausing outside the locked doors for indeterminable amounts of time, and all the while he found himself unable to understand his own mind…to understand why his heart was racing, his head pounding with a terrible, burning ache, or why his limbs felt so heavy and his dinner sat so stonily in his stomach…

Harry wandered for a good hour—up and down the corridors, circling the empty rooms, thinking, thinking all the while—before he returned to the first-floor landing, where the greater portion of the bedrooms were located in Weasleys' towering house, and he stood for a moment at the head of the staircase, his hand braced on the railing to his right. Bending double, he forced himself to breathe deeply, to keep his mind in the here and now, because every few moments he was catching glimpses of things on the periphery of his vision that could not be; dark stone walls, soft beams of light, subtle movements, shadows coming to life…

Harry pressed his fisted hand to his scar, holding the pain at bay by force.

" Get…out…" He muttered, each word distinct and fringed with ice. " Of my…head."

Several moments passed in absolute silence; at last, daring to lift his head, Harry saw that all was as it should be; the moonlight arcing through the window at the far end of the hall, the walls in their proper places, the night quiet and the shadows still. Inhaling deeply with relief, Harry stepped off of the landing and into the hallway and through the first door to his right, which stood partially ajar; a door through which he had never been before.

Immediately, he understood why.

The walls here were different than in any other room of the house; it was relatively smaller than the rest, as well, with only a single bed in one corner and a desk in the other; the floor was tidy, cleanly swept, and the walls shone bright silver in the moonlight. But what drew Harry's attention at once and made him feel unnecessarily hot with embarrassment was the sight of the name engraved on the bed's headboard, in silver letters that danced and twinkled: _Ginny_.

He couldn't describe how being alone in her room in the dead of night felt so wrong to him; but he felt suddenly like something unclean in a holy place, and backed at once toward the door…only to halt a moment later, his attention thoroughly captured by a picture situated on the corner of Ginny's desk.

Transfixed, yet still feeling slightly shameful for his creeping, Harry skulked around the reach of the moonlight slicing through Ginny's window, approaching the desk roundabout, and stopping with one hand braced on the rutted wooden surface, lifting the photograph to eye level with the other.

It was a picture that was as unfamiliar to Harry as it was unexpected; it was a picture of Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and himself at the Quidditch World Cup two years previously; Harry didn't know who had taken it, or how Ginny had gotten it, but his eyes were drawn, irresistibly, to the place where his arm brushed against Ginny's shoulder. She was smiling directly at the camera…or rather, at _him_, as he was now, staring down at her…with a smile of such bliss, it made her face look as though a light was shining from within. As in all wizarding photographs, the contents never stayed still for long—Ron and Hermione appeared to be fighting over a pair of binoculars, but Harry noted that his own time-preserved self was almost constantly in contact with Ginny—their arms brushing, their hands brushing, shoving one another occasionally…

And Harry wondered, then, with a sickening feeling of pain piercing through his gut, why he had never before noticed how _there _Ginny had always been—present, yet somehow elusive. Someone he depended on without realizing it, someone he was himself around, someone who understood him in strange, otherworldly ways…

Harry staggered backward until his legs came into contact with the edge of the bed, and he sank onto it, still staring at the photograph. Wave after wave of tortured loss swept over him as he _felt _the emptiness of this room—after a year of being out of use, it seemed to represent the void in Harry's life that Ginny had left behind.

And he noticed, gazing down at the photograph, that, if he looked deeply enough, he could see a certain sadness in Ginny's eyes, perhaps a longing, and it never seemed to fade…instead it strengthened each time their skin touched, and Harry wondered if he had always been to her as she seemed to him now; untouchable, set apart, as distant as the limitless stars.

With a heavy sigh, Harry lay on his back, holding the picture high above his head and gazing at Ginny's face with a sort of greedy alertness…as though, somehow, if he thought of her enough or dwelled on her face long enough, she would come back.

But the room remained empty and silent long after Harry's eyes began to tire. Laying the photograph facedown on the comforter at his side, Harry turned his head toward the wall, inhaling the musty scent of sheets that, somehow, reminded him of her.

And he thought of her as she must be now; scared and alone, perhaps feeling discarded, at the mercy of Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. He wondered if she would look as healthy and alive as she did in the picture; or was she hovering near death's doorstep, wondering why her family, her friends, and he, Harry, the boy she so admired, had abandoned her?

" I'm sorry, Ginny." He murmured into the silence, his voice breaking. " I'm so sorry…"

The night passed in a blur outside the window, and the moonlight highlighted the curvature of each tear that carved its way down his cheek.

Harry Potter was weeping.


	5. Grimmauld Again

_Author's Note: I sincerely apologize for the prolonged absence of an update; after the release of Breaking Dawn, final book in the Twilight saga, I was rather consumed with plot ideas for that fandomthat refused to be quelled. I was considering abandoning this fanfiction but decided to give it another try. Still, I would like to ask that if you read, please, PLEASE review. It means more than you know._

* * *

Chapter V: Grimmauld Again

* * *

The dawning of next morning found Harry in a dreadful state; his head was aching terribly, his muscles cramped from lying in one position for far too long. His eyes were hot and itchy and his throat was parched, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He felt as though he had died and come back to life, and as he rose with great reluctance from Ginny's bed he found he didn't have the strength to feel ashamed for having spent the night lying awake in her bedroom while she was absent.

Harry trudged from the room on legs that felt like lead, grateful for the cloud of restless fatigue that fogged his mind and kept his thoughts at bay…thoughts that had been storming his mind for the better part of the night, thoughts that had tapered only slightly as dawn broke the horizon. There were thoughts he knew needed to be addressed, but for now he found solace in the knowledge that he could put off the reckoning for a bit longer.

None of the rest of the Burrow's inhabitants seemed to have awakened yet; Harry was relieved at this, too, as he let himself into the bathroom and closed the door softly behind him; it meant he didn't have to answer any awkward questions as to how he had slept or where he had spent the night.

The bathroom was lit in a soft rosy glow; for a moment Harry stood just over the threshold, squinting in the watery dawn light spilling through the high window opposite the shower. The horizon was streaked through with gold and crimson, a fair scudding of clouds surrounding the newly-risen sun in a halo of mist, just in the line of Harry's vision. It was a gloriously beautiful sight, and one Harry found he could not quite appreciate.

Turning away from the window after a moment, Harry turned on the sink tap with trembling hands and splashed his face with icy water; it served to rouse him slightly, but did nothing for his appearance, which, upon catching sight of in the mirror, Harry felt could do with a rather large bit of improvement.

The eyes that gazed back at him from the reflecting mirror were such a dulled shade of green, they were nearly gray. Dark, bruise-like shadows lined the skin beneath his eyes, and his complexion was nearly as ashen as Fred's. Days of sleeplessness and constant worrying had left their mark in the deep lines etched upon his brow that would not seem to fade no matter how he tried to relax his forehead. He looked gaunt, too, even to himself—his skin hanging slightly from his bones, his entire form giving a slightly peaked appearance.

" Come off it." Harry muttered to his reflection, bracing his hands on either side of the sink. " You need to stop blaming yourself and start thinking. Start planning."

But then, he wondered, what was there to plan for? He _had _no plans, no insight into Voldemort's next move—-nothing more than a few cryptic words and the occasional, odd throbbing in his forehead…

Harry did not know how long he stood there, with the freezing water running over his hands, before he recovered from a thoughtless reverie and switched off the tap. He ran his hands several times through his hair—which did little if anything to tidy his appearance—and then he abandoned the bathroom for the downstairs that, in his absence, had come alive.

He found Ron and Hermione sitting at the table in the kitchen, talking with their heads close together; Molly Weasley was fixing a skillet full of eggs, muttering a stream of warnings at Crookshanks, who sat on the counter at her elbow and eyed the nearly-prepared food with a speculative gaze.

As he stood in the doorway, surveying these people who meant so much to him, Harry reflected on his conversation with Lupin the night before—and he shuddered.

_Never. I won't lose any more of them…_

At that moment, Hermione glanced around, and, upon spotting him, standing with arms crossed, leaning against the doorpost, she gave a cry of delight,_ " Harry!"_

" Morning." He greeted, unable to repress a slight smile as he joined his friends at the table. " How's Fred?"

" Better." Ron admitted, positively beaming. " He's sleeping easier, Dad says he won't have to go to St. Mungo's…George's sitting with him now, and he reckons Fred'll come around any minute now…he's stretching it a bit, if you ask me, but…"

Ron shrugged, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up on the table. Despite his slightly pessimistic words, his face was glowing, and Hermione and Harry exchanged amused glances at his expense. Harry felt a bit of the exhaustion and melancholy easing from his chest.

At that moment—and with a low, irritable screech—an enormous owl flew in through the open window across the room and landed gracefully on the table in front of Harry. It deposited a rolled-up _Daily Prophet_ issue into his hands with a low _smack_, and then patiently waited while Ron, grumbling, retreated upstairs to fetch a Knut to pay the irate creature.

" Stupid bloody owl." Ron muttered as the delivery bird took flight from the house, soaring out into the pale morning. " Last time that one came it bit my hand…Harry, what's up?"

For at that moment Harry has thrown the paper down flat against the table, stabbing his finger toward the headline, his mind whirling with shock as he read. Ron and Hermione leaned around to see what had set him so on edge—and Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. Ron swore loudly.

" Language, Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley chided without turning. " Honestly, you three, what is it? Hermione, dear, you haven't squeaked like that since your fourth year…"

" Mum, listen to this!" Ron's tone was scandalized, and he read the headline of the article aloud.

_**Half-Breeds and the Dangers they Pose**_

_-No longer a matter of Grey!-_

_Summertime. A time for relaxation and solace, a time for laughter and applying, a time for the making of new memories and the regaling of old ones. A time for fire-bug hunts and stargazing, a time for the consuming of Ice Mice and Bernie Bott's new Every Flavor sodas._

_It is a time of refuge for so many._

_But for one Wizarding family just outside of Surrey, there will be no more swimming, no more barbecues or drinks or memories. For the Rackshaws of Number 17, Winging Lane, there will be nothing more of anything at all._

_Last night, the notorious werewolf and mass-afflicter Fenrir Greyback struck again, mutilating Harvey Rackshaw, 43, his wife, Allisa, 37, and their two children…Shawn, 11, and Brina, 9, while the family spent a rare night alone together. Rackshaw, a traveling merchant selling his own hand-crafted wares, if often absent from his home._

_" He was a good man." States Torinda Malay, a woman occupying the residence four doors down from the Rackshaw home. " Not terribly social, but good nonetheless. His children were absolute wonders…tender hearted and obedient."_

_It has been speculated that Fenrir Greyback…responsible for the attack on former Hogwarts Professor Remus John Lupin, and the killing of Winston Archon, a very skilled Auror…used a muffling charm around the house, just before he did away with the Rackshaws…quite literally, one bite at a time._

_The Ministry has thus far found no leads…Greyback seems to have again vanished. But this brings up another, very vital question: Would it truly be so terrible, as many say, for the Ministry to have all Half-breeds marked? If it were so, and the new Minister himself had the power to track men such as Greyback…would other families like the Rackshaws be spared?_

_Only one thing is for certain. There is a bloodthirsty killer on the loose, and he is murdering innocents without reason. For advice on how to protect _your _family, see page 9._

Harry glanced up, his heart pounding, just in time to see Molly Weasley grow stiff and plunge the spatula into the eggs with much more force than was necessary. Beside Harry, Ron slumped back, his face pale, and Hermione looked on the verge of tears.

" That's terrible." She whispered, her voice strangled. " Harvey and Allisa, they sound like such good honest people…and that boy, Shawn, he would have been starting at Hogwarts this year…"

" Poor _Lupin_." Ron muttered, sounding flabbergasted. " I never knew…blimey, I never knew that the one who…you know, _bit him_…was still around!"

" This werewolf…Fenrir Greyback…" Harry scanned through the article again, his mind catching on to what his instincts had already discerned. " You don't…do you think he might be in league with Voldemort?"

" He certainly is, Harry, I'd rather hoped you'd figure it out." Mrs. Weasley's voice was terse, relatively flat. " Kingsley's been tracking him for the past month, ever since he was spotted outside of Albania…they've been tailing him constantly, but it seems he slipped away last night…perhaps he killed to prove that?"

" But that's so…it's so _horrible_." Hermione sounded heartbroken. " They were only _children_."

" The followers of You-Know-Who are never merciful, Hermione." Mrs. Weasley stated stonily. " _Never_."

They sat in veritable silence for several moments, Harry staring at the article, Ron staring at Hermione, Hermione staring out the window with tears shining wetly in her eyes.

Harry, for his part, felt full to the brim with burning, consuming rage. He couldn't believe that the Ministry would use this attack...and the deaths of innocent witches and wizards...as an excuse to further their anti-Half-Breed agenda; and yet here was the evidence, as plain as day before him.

And then Harry wondered, too, what kind of a man Fenrir Greyback must be, to attack so savagely without the light of the full moon…and he felt literally sick at that line, _bite by bite_…what must the bodies have looked like?

And then there was something else…an image that swam before Harry's eyes, but he could make no sense of it…a small boy, fair-haired and thin-limbed cradled in the loving arms of a mother, his face splattered with blood and his own gore, while a father looked on and silently wept…it was such a small, lonely family, caught in the glow of the street lamps…

" Mum." Ron spoke suddenly, swiftly, jarring Harry away from the strange vision. " Where's Professor Lupin?"

" He's gone to speak to Kingsley this morning. Why?" Mrs. Weasley sounded genuinely curious. Ron glanced down, running his thumb along the article as though trying to erase the ink, to smear away the painful words.

" I wonder if he knows about this."

Before Mrs. Weasley could reply, Crookshanks gave a lofty meow, and sprang. His great, fluffy orange body landed in the middle of the skillet, spraying eggs everywhere; and Crookshanks, with a great shriek of pain, leapt straight up into the air and bolted, his singed paws winging over the floorboards as he dashed upstairs.

Mrs. Weasley, positively dripping in eggs, looked murderously angry.

" Er…Ron, Hermione, how about a game of Quidditch?" Harry suggested, seizing his best mate by the elbow just as Ron did the same to Hermione, and they escaped to the garden before the storm could be unleashed.

* * *

The day passed in a slow, lulled kind of way; abandoning the idea of Quidditch the moment they were free of the house—and the oppression of Mrs. Weasley's anger—the three walked unhurriedly around the sloping lawn, catching up on the mundane details of life—Hermione's purchasing of a new book explaining the deeper qualifications of time travel, Ron's improvement as Keeper when he played with his brothers, Harry's constant run-ins with Dudley. None of them mentioned Ginny, or Fred, or Sirius…as though some silent pact had been spoken between them, they carefully steered into much safer subjects, and Harry was grateful. It was much easier not to think about the missing, the wounded, the reserved when the conversation did not pertain to them.

Harry kept an eye out for Lupin as the day progressed, but he did not return to the house; neither did Mad-Eye, who had disappeared the night before while the others slept. Only Tonks lingered, awake to greet them when the trio returned to the house after their walk.

" Wotcher, Harry…Hermione…Ginger." Tonks winked and half-smiled at Ron, who flushed, as they all took their seats at the kitchen table. Mrs. Weasley had abandoned the room, though not before cleaning up all traces of egg; Harry noted that Tonks was eating a bowl of cereal, however, and he privately wondered if Mrs. Weasley had had enough of cooking for the time being.

" Morning, Tonks." Harry greeted her, glancing at her hair, which was a curious shade of violet today. " Sleep well?"

Tonks merely shrugged, a furtive look in her eye, and then she set to her cereal with admirable force. Harry watched her for a moment, wondering at her reaction…and then he fixed his eyes on the wall past her shoulder, and sank into thought.

In truth, all that he had done since yesterday evening had been merely a mask, a veil, a way to ease the anticipation that burned inside of him. Somehow—the means were still unclear, but he knew it would happen—somehow Voldemort was going to contact him, to show him what he would be forced to do, to accomplish, to sacrifice in order to bring Ginny back.

He was anxious and eager in equal measure, and so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice when Tonks finished her meal and left, mumbling something about needing to do work for the Order.

They day continued to slog by; Harry, Hermione, and Ron never strayed far from one another, often visiting the sitting room, where George kept constant vigilance by his brother's side. Harry was glad to note that Fred seemed to sleep more easily now than he had the night before, and there was a bit less spotting of blood about his lips. George was nearer to his cheerful self of old, as well, seeming to have overcome his pessimism of the night before quite well. He did not speak to Harry directly, however, not at all, and Harry was faintly suspicious at the memory of the words George had spoken to him the night before during dinner.

He did not broach the subject, however, instead contenting himself with concentrating on the positive; after all, he reasoned darkly, while he and Ron set up a board for a game of Wizard chess, things could not go so peacefully and seamlessly as they had this morning for very long.

He was quite right, a fact that was driven home when, over lunch, Molly Weasley stated, apropos of nothing, while they ate the corned beef sandwiches she had prepared (Ron looked rather like he would prefer to eat a troll booger to his mother's famous sandwiches), " You three are going to Grimmauld Place today."

Harry did not expect the reaction that Mrs. Weasley's words received.

Hermione gasped, inhaled a rather large portion of her sandwich, and began to choke; Ron spat a mouthful of pumpkin juice across the table, narrowly missing Harry, who dove sideways off of his chair to avoid the stream of cold liquid. From his position halfway beneath the table he heard Ron splutter, " Mum, you _said _we wouldn't have to go back there this summer! You _promised!_"

" Oh, honestly, Ronald." Mrs. Weasley sounded thoroughly exasperated, and Harry saw a flash of glimmering light wreathe the kitchen in a brief glowed, and Hermione's coughs faded to little gasping, ragged breaths; it seemed Mrs. Weasley had used magic to clear her airways. " You knew there were conditions to that promise the moment I made it."

" Why, what's the problem?" Harry demanded as he hauled himself back into his chair. " I _like _Grimmauld Place."

It was only a half-truth, Harry admitted guiltily. He didn't have any particular fondness for the house that had once housed the very pro-pure-blood Black family; he had no affinity to the strangeness of a place he had only just begun to visit the year before; he cared very little for the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black, and for the house elf Kreacher he cared even less. But he had a certain sense within him that this was his chance to put things right with Sirius, and he for once he did not feel inclined to heed any warnings from Ron or Hermione whatsoever.

Even as Harry pondered, Ron and Hermione exchanged uncertain glances. Then Ron turned to him, looking unsure.

" You know, mate, I keep forgetting you weren't around for the past month." He stated seriously. " We've only been to Grimmauld twice…once to get some stuff Mum and Dad left behind, and the other time when…well, during the full moon, something…"

Harry felt his awareness ratchet upwards several notches, and he focused his eyes on Ron, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

" What happened during the full moon?" He demanded, though he already had a fair guess. His ears were suddenly filled with the echoes of long ago whimpers, terrified cries, the sight of two large, vicious dogs locked with their teeth at each other's throats…

" Professor Lupin…" Hermione began. She paused, looking slightly frightened, and then she hurried on, " Professor Lupin had a bit of an…an accident. He forgot to take the Wolfsbane potion, he was too busy trying to get Sirius to talk to him, and when he realized what he was…that he was…" She broke off again, bit her lip quite fiercely, and then continued, " He ran into Sirius's old room, locked himself in, and completely demolished it. The whole situation was an absolute…a disaster."

" Never seen anything like it." Ron tacked on, his eyes wide.

" Wait." Harry began slowly, glancing between the two of them. " You were both _there_?" He couldn't restrain the stab of envy that thrilled through him.

" Against our will." Ron muttered, shooting a glare at his mother's back. " We were just stopping by and things started to get real dodgy…the idiot was trying to break down the door, to get after us…and we couldn't risk going into the bedroom to stun him…"

" What did you do?" Harry demanded, intrigued despite himself.

" _We _didn't do anything." Hermione sounded unnaturally sly. " But what happened after that…it's a bit of a secret, honestly, Harry. We promised we wouldn't tell." She exchanged a slightly smug glance with Ron, which didn't go unnoticed by Harry, who felt suddenly very put-out.

" So what's the matter with you two?" He snapped, hoping to wipe the smirks from their faces. " Scared of a wolf?"

Hermione looked so suddenly and utterly sad that Harry instantly regretted his words. He reached toward her compulsively, seeking to comfort, to erase whatever damage his words had done, but Ron laid a restraining hand on his wrist, and Harry turned, meeting his friend's eyes.

" He didn't know…" Ron began, and then he swallowed audibly. " He transformed when there was someone else in the room."

Harry's mind took a moment to align Ron's statement with Hermione's sudden quiet, and suddenly, it all made sense.

" _Kreacher_." It was a statement, not a question. Ron nodded somberly.

" He was just cleaning up a bit, and he didn't have a chance to get out…couldn't even Apparate into the clear. When we found him…what was _left _of him…" Ron glanced furtively toward Hermione as he said this. " He was holding a picture of your dad and Sirius from years back. It looked like…"

" Like Professor Lupin had tried to bite it clean in half." Hermione finished, softly, not lifting her eyes from the tabletop.

Harry blinked, uncertain.

" Well, it's a bit of a mess, isn't it?" He said slowly. " But I don't get why that would make Sirius so angry…he doesn't even like Kreacher, he wanted him out of the picture from the go…"

" I think it was more the…more the shock than anything, Harry." Hermione murmured. " From what the others told us Sirius was being a bit nicer to Kreacher…probably trying to win him back over to our side completely…but I think he thought Professor Lupin was very stupid for what he'd done, not bothering to take the potion, it was a very reckless thing to do..."

" They had a row." Ron interrupted. " It was the worst row I've ever heard, Harry, worse than you and me, even. Sirius was damned drunk and they both said some pretty awful stuff…thought Mum was going to have to use a Shield Charm to keep them from squaring off…but they split up after a few hours and no one's been back to Grimmauld since."

" Until today." Molly Weasley spoke for the first time since Ron and Hermione had begun the tale, and Harry jumped; he had nearly forgotten she was there. " We just received the owl this morning, Dumbledore wants the Order to congregate. He'll be sending us a message."

" Then how come we're the only ones who are going?" Ron demanded, gesturing to Harry, Hermione, and himself. " Are you just trying to get us out of the picture?"

" No." Mrs. Weasley replied firmly, not turning to face them. " You'll be going ahead to find a suitable room in that filthy place for your brother to sleep, and if you wouldn't mind, it can't do much harm to try placating Sirius. I'm sure he's still in something of a temper."

Harry nodded, feeling dazed.

" Anyone else there yet?" Ron inquired casually as they began to clear the table of their lunch things. " You know, at Grimmauld?"

" Hestia and Kingsley. Emmaline and Dung should be around sometime late this afternoon. And Moody said he would meet up with your father at the Ministry, and they would travel together." Mrs. Weasley's clipped tone hid a strain of some emotion Harry couldn't read; as he opened his mouth to speak, Ron grunted.

" What about _her_?" He demanded, his tone scathing.

" _Yes_, Ron, she'll be there." Mrs. Weasley snapped.

" She, who? Who are you talking about?" Harry asked, glancing between mother and son, both of whom looked rather upset. Hermione was busily scrubbing at the pumpkin juice that had begun to dry on the tabletop, and she kept her eyes averted.

" New member of the Order." Ron intoned to Harry as they deposited their plate sin the sink. " Some witch from up north…wouldn't say how far north, though. Says Dumbledore came to her Mum and Dad and tried to get them to join the Order last time, but they refused. Now she wants in and Dumbledore's given the go…by post, though, he hasn't been around since term ended."

" Why would they let someone like that into the Order?" Harry demanded as they abandoned the kitchen and headed upstairs, heads bent together, leaving Hermione and Mrs. Weasley to the task of cleaning. " They can't know her all that well!"

" Veritaserum." Ron spoke the word with reverence. " Truth Serum, mate, from Dumbledore's private store. Mum and Dad told her she'd have to down a bit if she wanted to be inducted. She agreed, and they questioned her for an entire day. She's clean as they come…'cept she's got a temper that'd even put Snape on edge. Word is they went to school together and they were rivals…bit like you and Malfoy, maybe, only everyone says Snape still hated your dad more."

Harry felt a familiar pang of loss burning in his stomach at the mention of his father. Not for the first time that summer—and, he predicted sullenly, not for the last, either—he wished he hadn't left his invisibility cloak on the train. Not that he wanted to use it…not here, with the Weasleys, from whom he had no reason to hide…but rather to run his hands over it, to inhale the strange, misty scent of it, and to remember that, once upon a time, his were not the hands that caressed it.

" So." Ron spoke after a brief pause, his tone strangely sociable. " Didn't hear you come in last night. Where'd you sleep?"

Harry felt instantly wary, defensive, his thoughts sliding away from his father's cloak as easily as water over slick river pebbles.

" I didn't sleep." He replied evasively. " I haven't slept since last week."

" Really?" Ron seemed taken back, and he ducked his head aside to peer at Harry more closely. Whatever he saw in his friend's face, it couldn't have been good; Ron's eyes widened considerably. " Blimey, I'd wondered why you looked so terrible…a whole week?"

" If I don't sleep tonight…" Harry trailed off significantly. Ron ran a hand through his hair.

" So, what'd you _do _then, just walk around?" His tone was much more curious, now, less proper and polite, but Harry was put on his guard all the same. Some strange sense told him that Ron had already guessed where Harry had been.

" A bit." He admitted slowly. " Just because I can't sleep doesn't mean I'm not tired, though. I just laid down after a while."

" Laid down where?" The sudden, steely note of Ron's voice hinted that he had hit upon the subject that most interested him. Harry halted at once, Ron turning to face him, and for a moment they simply stared at one another, neither one blinking.

_Lie_. Harry's mind hissed the words. _He doesn't need to know…_

" Bathroom." The word leaped from Harry's lips as effortlessly as though he had planned it all along. " I-I felt sick, I didn't want to risk…you know…"

Ron continued to study him wordlessly, and Harry felt suddenly and unequivocally relieved that his best mate was not a Legillimens. Harry was not ready to disclose his secret to his almost-family, and, if it came down to Ron trying to break into his mind, it would have meant a fight right then.

As it were, potential conflict was stayed by Ron's satisfied shrug, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Ron turned and pushed open the door to his room, beckoning Harry to follow him.

For now, at least, Harry's secret was safe.

Ron's room was looking strangely dismal when they entered; his school things were strewn all across the floor, his robes covered in scrap bits of parchment, his cauldron perched haphazardly on the corner of his bed, his trunk lying open an empty on his pillow.

Harry surveyed the scene with wide eyes, for a moment, then turned to meet Ron's strangely defiant eyes.

" Need any help?" He asked.

" _Yes_." Ron's voice was saturated with relief. " Mum'll have my head if she sees my room like this…I practically tore it apart looking for my wand, I think Fred and George hid it at the end of last term…finally found it in Pigwidgeon's cage, covered in droppings, Mum nearly went off her rocker, ranting and raving at me this morning…"

Harry grunted sympathetically, and then conversation became impossible as he Ron and set to the task of cleaning the room; Harry found himself longing for the freedom to use magic, as he was forced to lie down on his stomach and crawl beneath the bed to retrieve Ron's minute owl, Pigwidgeon, who had somehow gotten himself stuck beneath the mattress and was setting off an awful, screeching ruckus as he attempted to flap his way to freedom.

" Stupid git." Ron muttered as he held the tennis-ball sized fowl in gently curled fingers. " Sorry about that, mate." He added, nodding to the long furrows of oozing red on Harry's forearms where Pigwidgeon's talons had scoured their mark. " Won't happen again, _will it?_" He gave Pigwidgeon's a rough shake, then all but threw the small owl into his cage and latched the door.

As he gazed at the dizzily swooping Pigwidgeon—who seemed utterly unaffected by Ron's stern words—-Harry found himself wishing Hedwig would return with a letter from Dumbledore, and soon; he had little time to dwell on this desire however as he was called on a moment later to help Ron haul their luggage downstairs; Hermione's things were already in the foyer, and she was grooming a rather cantankerous Crookshanks, whose burned paws were sticky with a healing salve. The cat hissed at Harry as he scratched its fluffy ears, and Harry resisted the childish urge to hiss back.

The hours rushed by as the three friends wandered aimlessly about the house, Harry defying the strange inclination to return to Ginny's bedroom, and at last they congregated back in the foyer again, and spoke formally to one another as though they hadn't walked separately for a time before; sunset was nearing, casting long shadows throughout the house, when Mrs. Weasley bustled in to join them, looking utterly aflutter and very flushed.

" Let's be quick, dears, we haven't got much time…Arthur suspects the Ministry is watching us and he doesn't want them to know…well." She fluttered her hands, shooing them out the front door. " We'll do this as quickly as we can, side-along. I'll take Hermione first, and then I'll be back for you, Harry, and then you, Ronald. Stay right here!" She added the last three words quite sternly, and then turned to smile kindly at Hermione, who was looking rather nervous but also determined as she maneuvered her school trunk, Crookshanks' cat carrier, and a bag of Muggle clothing down the front steps of the Burrow. " Do you have your things, dear?"

Hermione nodded wordlessly. She exchanged a glance with Ron and grimaced at Harry, and then took Mrs. Weasley's arm in one hand and held her trunks and Crookshanks' cat carrier in the other.

There was a loud _pop_, and suddenly Harry and Ron were alone in the chilly night.

" It'll take some getting used to, that." Ron noted, leaning back against the side of the house and staring up into the open face of the night sky. Harry ignored him, pacing a tight circle around their luggage and rubbing absently at his slightly-twinging scar. There was a degree of heaviness to his lids that might have been exhaustion, except that he felt especially alert and incredibly anxious at the thought of what he would soon be facing—Grimmauld Place, where he had not been for quite some time, and subsequently, _Sirius_, with whom he was not certain where he currently stood.

" Oh, cheer up, mate." Ron's exasperated voice halted Harry mid-step, nearly unbalancing him. " It's just Grimmauld, alright? We're not going to face down _You-Know-Who_."

Harry turned to face his friend, watching as Ron's slightly-mocking smile withered and died form his freckled face—and then Harry averted his brilliant green eyes and shrugged unwillingly.

" Sometimes...facing down our friends can be just as bad as our enemies."

He hadn't meant it as an accusation, but he could see that Ron was somewhat affronted; his bright eyes hardened slightly as his shoulders hunched.

And then, as suddenly as they had solidified, Ron's eyes melted back into warmth, and he straightened, looking embarrassed.

" Right. Sorry. Forgot about that." His tone was sheepish; Harry had to smile.

" It's fine."

At that moment—with another resounding _pop_—Mrs. Weasley appeared beside them, and she seized Harry's arm almost at once; she did not take a moment to ask him if he had his things in order, and Harry had only just seized hold of his trunk as his Firebolt when Mrs. Weasley revolved on the spot, and that peculiar feeling he had first experienced Apparating alongside Fred and George returned; Harry closed his eyes very tightly shut, and a moment later his knees thudded onto wet pavement and he pitched forward, nearly colliding face-first with the ground.

Mrs. Weasley caught his shoulder and held him upright, until Harry's bearings returned and he scrambled to his feet, gazing around the darkened street with a pounding heart and wide eyes.

The lane was as familiar to him as Privet Drive, though notably he had traveled it much less often; Harry found himself gazing at the empty space between Grimmauld Number Eleven and Grimmauld Number Thirteen, and despite the tension boiling inside of him a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

" Just a moment, dear, you wait here." Mrs. Weasley commanded quietly, and then she vanished; Harry paid little mind to her absence as he gazed warily toward the dark fore and the shadowed aft of the street, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of something amiss—a chill to the air, a breath out of place, a change in the wind—but nothing amiss presented itself. All was deadly quiet.

Harry nearly leaped from his skin as, with a loud _crack_, Mrs. Weasley and Ron appeared at his side. Ron looked slightly green, and Mrs. Weasley was attempting to tame the straggling pin-up of her hair. Abandoning that venture after several fruitless tries, Mrs. Weasley stepped forward, withdrew a slip of parchment from the pocket of her overcoat, and reread it several times.

Harry had seen this strange ritual performed before, and paid little heed to it; his attention was consumed by a movement in the darkness at the far end of the lane, his gaze drawn to a pair of large, gleaming eyes at the mouth of the street. Even from a distance of several yards, Harry could easily distinguish the vastness of the form that bore the eyes, the shagginess of the black coat that hung gaunt from the bone-frame.

Harry stepped away from the pool of light beneath the streetlamp—and the massive, shaggy black dog retreated as well, its eyes suddenly wary, mistrustful.

Pain such as he had never known—not for its fierceness, but for the strangeness of it—flashed through Harry like fire, and he halted his stride, lifting one hand without intent, his body held immobile by the suspicion in those familiar, gleaming eyes.

" S-Sirius..."

The name fell from his lips as a whisper.

" C'mon, Harry." Ron's voice was pleading, anxious in the twilight, and he seized Harry's shoulder, spinning him unresisting toward the recently-appeared Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry followed like an unhinged marionette at Ron's side, wishing with all of his might that he could fling his hands over his ears as he did so.

For as they crossed the dusty threshold into the most Noble House of Black, a wolfish howl of pure agony tore through the night air behind them, fading into an echo behind the sealed door.


	6. The Woes of Sirius Black

_Author's Notes: Goodness, but I am a terrible author. Sorry for the infrequent updates, I have been quite busy, and with school starting soon I'll have even less writing time. However, I'll try to find a few hours a day to plug in to future chapters._

_On a side note, Ttis chapter introduces a new character...my own...and I would like to ask that my readers alert me if at any time this woman begins to resmble what the fanfiction world calls a "Mary-Sue"--i.e a perfect character. It's something I try to avoid but constructive critisim is always, always appreciated._

_I hope all of my readers and reviewers enjoy this chapter. I worked very hard on it!_

Chapter VI: The Woes of Sirius Black

* * *

The foyer of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was quiet and musty, every visible surface covered in a fine layer of dust. Harry stood for a moment in the dimness of the hallway, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the semi-darkness of the nearly dormant house; the only sounds he could hear were the quiet breaths of Ron and Hermione on either side of him, Mrs. Weasley's easy respirations from several feet ahead. His arms aching with the weight of his luggage, Harry set his trunk, owl cage, and Firebolt against the wall, wiped his sweaty hands against his jeans, and shuffled forward, quiet by habit.

There was a muffled curse and a loud _bang _from behind him that made Harry jump; he heard Ron hiss something and Hermione reply in a high, apologetic voice, but whatever they said to one another, it was drowned out by the sudden shrieking echoing from down the hall.

" _FILTH! SCUM! Disgusting villains ravaging the house of my forefathers! Bastards! Turn-coats!"_

" Now look what you've done!" Ron groaned.

" I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" Hermione wailed. Harry could see that she was leaning against the wall and rubbing her foot where she'd dropped her trunk on it.

" Oh, _shut up!_" Mrs. Weasley snapped, and for a moment Harry thought she was addressing Hermione; then he glanced around to see Ron's mother running full-tilt toward the nearby drapery that concealed the portrait of the deceased Mistress Black, whose screeches were reaching a crescendo that Harry feared would soon shatter the windows.

" _Disgusting creatures! Murderers! Prey of the Dark Lord, you'll soon be devoured...!" _

" I'm tempted to blow apart that wall where she's hanging." Ron muttered sullenly, fingering his wand as he spoke. Hermione dropped her foot back to the floor and glared at him.

" Oh, I'm _sure _Sirius would thank you for that." She hissed.

Harry's stomach twisted uncomfortably at her words, his heartbeat accelerating as the piercing, anguished howl of his godfather rang as an echo in his ears. He wasn't keen to discover what thought or sight or idea had sparked such a response from Sirius...it was terrible enough to consider the possibility that he himself was the cause of such pain.

" Let's..." He began, then paused. " Let's take our stuff upstairs, alright?"

Ron and Hermione stopped glaring at one another long enough to nod, and then they snatched up their things and followed Harry down the hallway and up to the second floor; Harry noted, with a wry smile, that Ron offered to carry Hermione's trunk this time, an offer she politely refused.

Harry felt an odd sense of relief rushing through him as they entered the room that he and Ron had shared during his previous stay at Grimmauld Place; it was the only room still touched by the fading daylight, and Harry thought it seemed quite warm. The bed even looked inviting, though he doubted highly he would be sleeping anytime soon.

Hermione cast a cursory glance about their quarters, nodded once, then departed for her own bedroom. Harry thought, with a pang, that Hermione would likely be very lonely without Ginny to share her room.

" So..." Ron began as he flung himself down on his bed and kicked his feet up onto the headrest, watching Harry upside-down. " You get to meet that new member of the Order tonight...and then maybe you could try talking to Sirius..."

Harry privately thought he'd rather sit on a Snapping Sycamore, a particular dangerous tree Neville Longbottom had told him about once—-_"Lots of blokes have lost more than just skin when they sat on the roots of a Snapping Sycamore...at least their stupidity won't be able to be passed on now..."—_but he didn't feel like disclosing the workings of his overly-taxed mind to Ron just now.

" Yeah, maybe." He replied instead, collapsing onto the edge of his bed. " Is Professor Lupin going to be at the meeting tonight?"

" He wouldn't miss it for anything, mate." Ron stated firmly. Then, after a brief pause, he added, " 'Course, that means him and Sirius'll have to work things out, but that can't be a bad thing."

" You'd think." Harry sighed.

They sat in silence for a time, neither of them unpacking, neither of them moving; Harry thought Ron might have drifted off, as he himself would have liked to do, but after nearly a half hour—with the world beyond the windowpanes dark as pitch and the night birds chirring their songs—Ron sat up abruptly.

" Oi, sounds like they're starting to show."

Harry straightened up from his slumped position, listening intently, but he heard no stirring from below.

" I-I don't hear anything, Ron." He said slowly. Ron's mouth curved into a half-smile that was faintly mocking.

" That's the point, Harry."

And so saying he leaped from the bed and raced to the door; Harry, with a resigned sigh, followed after, glancing once, quickly, around the room before he shadowed Ron down two flights of stairs and into Grimmauld's spacious basement.

The entire room seemed to be alive as they entered; cooking utensils flew and skittered between bodies, food sailed from hand to hand, from refrigerator to counter and back again. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be dominating the cooking—Harry was surprised that she had decided to linger, he had assumed she would return to the Burrow as soon as they were clear at Grimmauld—but here she lingered, and a witch Harry faintly recognized as Hestia Jones was assisting her in making steak-and-kidney pie.

Just before them, Hermione was seated at the table, dressed in drab flannel pajamas, her hair in a high ponytail; she was conversing animatedly with a man named Diggle, and from a brief snatch of words that broke through the torrent of conversation flowing all around, Harry deduced that they were discussing the anti-half-breed legislation the Minister was attempting to pass.

At the far end of the table, Harry spied Tonks speaking lowly to Mad-Eye Moody; both glanced toward him, nodded curtly, then looked away.

" Guess he decided not to wait for my dad." Ron muttered, sounding faintly affronted.

The last two people Harry laid eyes on were a pair of witches leaning against the far wall, not speaking to one another, not speaking to anyone—just watching. One of them was familiar; Emmaline Vance, Harry realized after a moment.

The other was a woman with dark red hair that was nearly auburn, and grayish-green eyes. She was tall and slightly more fleshy than Hermione or Tonks, though not as much as Mrs. Weasley; she was also a complete stranger, though there was something vaguely familiar about her features that made Harry think he might have seen her before, perhaps in Diagon Alley while shopping for school supplies.

After a moment, seeming to sense his stare, the woman glanced around; their eyes locked, and Harry felt an odd throbbing in his scar that was not quite pain...it was as though something had moved beneath his skin.

Ron nudged him, and nodded toward the woman.

" That's the new member of the Order." He whispered. " C'mon."

Pushing past his mother and Hestia with a mumbled "S'cuse me,' Ron made his way to the far wall. Harry followed reluctantly, feeling not the least bit excited to meet this woman; he felt strangely, selfishly, as though she was disrupting something scared about the deep ties of the Order than ran far into the past, farther even than Harry's lifetime; the members of this organization had known each other for years...some of them having gone to school together, others having been taught by the elder witches and wizards here, as was the case with Moody and Tonks...and Harry couldn't repress the feeling that this woman did not belong here, even if she _had _once gone to Hogwarts.

" Hello there, Ronald!" Emmaline greeted brightly as Harry and Ron reached her. " It's been a while, hasn't it? Off to school soon, aren't you?"

" Yeah." Ron mumbled. " I just wanted Harry to meet..."

The red-haired woman swung around to face them, extending her hand.

" Aletris." She introduced curtly. " Aletris Kensington. Don't ask about the name, my mother had an obsession with plants. Call me Tris or don't talk to me at all, boy." She grasped Harry's limp hand and shook it firmly, her eyes darting to his forehead and lingering there. " And you're Harry Potter, of course, the Boy Who Lived. I expected you to look less like a half-drowned rat, but I suppose life's not perfect."

Harry realized his jaw was gaping wide, and he quickly snapped it shut, trying not to feel insulted by the woman's brusque words.

" Well, this is quite a set-up you've got here." Aletris continued, still shaking Harry's hand as she glanced around the spacious room. " House could be less dusty, be a little better looked after, but what do you expect from a man like Black..."

Harry's suppressed astonishment mounted over into rage; he pulled his hand free of Aletris's and stepped back.

" Excuse me," His voice sounded cold, even to his own ears. " But Sirius Black is my godfather."

Aletris looked neither surprised nor apologetic at his revelation; she looked Harry over speculatively, her eyes frosty, and then she shrugged.

" You're not afraid to talk back, even to adults who are far superior to you; I like that, it reminds me of me. Still, you could choose your friends better, Harry Potter, these ones might be too good on rules for you." Her gaze darted now to Ron, then back to Harry's face. Harry was forcibly reminded of the second time he had met Draco Malfoy, at Hogwarts just before they had been Sorted.

" Thanks for the compliment, but I think you should keep your mouth of off my mates." Harry stated firmly.

Aletris's expression did not change.

" It's my nature." She replied simply, and then she turned away and proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the evening.

Harry and Ron left at Emmaline's friendly farewell and escaped back to the foot of the stairs, where they sat side-by-side and listened to the conversation swirling around them without much interest; Ron was watching his mother cook, his eyes glassy with distant thoughts, and Harry was absorbed in thoughts of Aletris's discourteous nature and the distinctly-felt absence of Ginny.

" So." Harry forced himself to speak after a sidelong glance at Ginny's empty chair brought a profound ache brewing in his chest. " How's this meeting going to work?"

" Well, they'll all eat here and spend the night...the women'll talk about cooking and whatever it is witches talk about, and the blokes'll drink butterbeer and talk about bloke stuff, and then tomorrow morning they'll got down to business, update each other and stuff. It's sort of a reunion, if you ask me, they haven't had a meeting like this in months..."

Ron's words warmed Harry slightly, warding off the chill of sorrow that was always so noticeable of late; here, in the lively kitchen, with the promise of more friends soon to come, it was difficult to believe that the wizarding world was caught in the iron grip of a tumultuous war.

It was nearly an hour later that Hermione—face flushed, eyes glowing with the fun of the gathering—came to sit on the stair beneath Ron and Harry. She leaned back against Ron's legs—eliciting an expression of great surprise from him—and turned to look up at Harry, her dark eyes full of concern.

" Are you alright, Harry? You look..." She hesitated, then concluded, in a manner that made Harry think she had quickly revised her choice of word, " Tired."

" I—"

" He hasn't slept in a _week_." Ron blurted. Harry shot him a dark look, though he could not help but be amused by the fleeting thought that Ron would, at this moment, say _anything _to keep Hermione right where she was; he wouldn't allow Harry to lie to her and send her away so easily.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, and she twisted around a bit more to gaze, very keenly, into Harry's frozen face.

" A _week?_" She echoed, her voice soft. " Harry, that's..."

" Not natural." He interrupted, his tone dull. " Yeah, Hermione, I know."

" Well, have you talked to anyone? I'm sure Professor Dumbledore or Lupin..."

" Look, Hermione, it's fine, alright?" Harry cut across her again, glancing around, hoping that none had overheard. The last thing he wanted was for more witches and wizards to fawn over him for some ailment. " I'll sleep when I'm dead."

He had meant the statement to be a joke, but both Ron and Hermione looked suddenly ill, and Harry regretted his choice of words almost immediately.

" That's not what I..." He began defensively.

" We _know_, Harry, we know." Hermione interjected with a sigh. " It's just, the thought off..." She broke off, shaking her head.

" Listen, mate, with the war going on and all, maybe we'd better not talk about that kind of stuff." Ron suggested uncomfortably. " Don't want to tempt fate, right?"

" Yeah." Harry glanced up at him briefly, then dropped his head. " Right."

There was a sudden, resounding _bang _from upstairs, and the sound of Mrs. Black's screeching filtered down the stairs. Everyone in the room except for Moody flinched, and then Harry leaped to his feet and raced from the room, Ron and Hermione hard on his heels, to greet the newcomer.

Remus Lupin stood in the foyer, his arms outstretched, wand in hand; the draperies concealing Mrs. Black's portrait had been sealed once more, and she was silent. Relieved to have the ache of the screeching voice silenced, Harry glanced at Lupin...then did a double take, and looked again.

The ex-professor looked direly ill, his face appearing exceptionally drawn and gray; Harry wondered if it was his return to Grimmauld Place, where his last transformation had gone so horribly awry, that made him appear to be close to death. Lupin was rubbing absently at his right forearm when they came to the corridor, but as the trio entered Lupin dropped his arms back to his sides and his face colored by a token amount.

" Hello, you three." He greeted, his voice flat but his eyes warm. " Arthur said you'd be here...he and Kingsley are on their way, they've been held up at the Ministry..."

Harry felt a sick pang in his gut as the image of Minister Filch's face flashed in his mind. His hands curled into unconscious fists, and he fought against a shiver of heat that rushed down his back.

" Hi." Harry forced himself to speak, then swallowed though his throat burned with the effort. Now that he was in the presence of another beloved friend, he suddenly felt as though he wanted nothing more than to be alone. " Er...Mrs. Weasley is making food in the kitchen, you should..."

" Remus!"

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Tonks and Molly Weasley approaching. Both women were beaming, and Harry sidestepped to let them pass. The moment Lupin was occupied, Harry jerked his head, motioning Ron and Hermione to follow him; they obeyed at once, unquestioning, following him up the stairs, to the second floor. Wordlessly they entered the room Harry and Ron shared, and took up residence on the two beds; Harry and Hermione on one, Ron on the other.

They watched the floor, watched the ceiling, watched each other without speaking for several long moments. Then, abruptly, Ron lashed out, kicking his trunk over so that it crashed hollowly to the floor.

" Bloody hell." He muttered, " I keep expecting Gin to walk in through the door. It's all wrong, not having her around..."

" It's...lonely." Hermione admonished, twisting her fingers together and gazing down at her hands. " It seems so empty in our room..."

Harry held his silence, lounging back against his pillows with his arms tucked behind his head, eyes fixed on the window and the dark world beyond the glass as he listened to his friends speaking in low tones.

" Maybe...I dunno." Ron began, hesitantly. " Maybe You-Know-Who's just waiting for something. Maybe no one'll have to die for her to come back."

So he was not the only one thinking it. Harry wondered why this revelation did not make him feel any better.

" Oh, grow up, Ronald." Hermione's voice was sharp. " There's a _war _here. Nothing will come without a price..._nothing_."

" I was afraid you'd say that." Ron sighed, running one hand through his fiery hair. " Blimey, I just...what do you think, Harry?"

" It's simple." Harry replied with a shrug, though in his heart he knew it was anything but. " Voldemort's going to ask me to die for Ginny."

Hermione inhaled swiftly, and then silence reigned; Harry heard a quiet shuffle beyond the door that sounded like Crookshanks stalking for the stairs. He counted the slow, rhythmic beats of his heart—wondering silently if they were numbered—while he watched Ron's eyes close and stay closed, and Hermione's horror fading slowly to the cool levelheaded view that was usually her greatest ally.

" Well, we'll just have to find a way to stop him then, won't we?" Her voice was tight, the words coming out from between her teeth. Harry shrugged again, wondering if it was sleeplessness or resignation that made him feel as though this was all happening to someone else.

" Nothing else for it?" Ron's voice was stronger then Hermione's, more even, but Harry knew him well enough to recognize the anguish that his level tone disguised.

" No." Harry replied firmly. " Now I've just got to wait for him to show me where to go...where I'm supposed to die."

Hermione scooted closer to Harry, leaning her cheek against the knee that he had propped upright, halfway to his chest. Harry was glad Ron's eyes were still closed...he didn't want his friend to get the wrong impression from their contact.

" We've really fouled things up, haven't we?" Hermione whispered.

" _We_?" Harry propped himself up on his elbows, gazing at her in disbelief as Hermione drew back to watch him. " You mean _I _have, Hermione, I got us all into this mess...I never should have gone back and messed things up..."

" And damned Sirius to the world beyond the veil?" Hermione's voice was taut with anger again. " Harry, what happened here wasn't your fault, you mustn't think..."

" It _is _my fault." Harry insisted, feeling all of his distress beginning to froth beneath the surface. " _I'm _the reason Ginny's gone. If I hadn't gone back in time, she would still be here, wouldn't she? Not in the hands of the Death Eaters. I made a choice, and as far as I can tell, it was the wrong one!"

This...the pressure suffocating him, wrapping around his chest, making it difficult to breathe...this was the tension that he had felt brewing inside of him for the past three weeks, and most potently in the last six days.

Hermione was on her feet now, braced beside Harry's bed, gazing down at him with her brows drawn together in a dark frown.

" You would sacrifice Sirius's life?" She demanded, her voice constrained with barely-suppressed fury.

" What would you expect me to do, Hermione?" Harry retorted, pushing himself fully upright and returning her glare. " I mean... Sirius hates me now. Ginny's out there somewhere, probably _dying_, and as far as I can tell things are as bad as they would have been if we _hadn't _gone back in time."

" This is _your _problem, Harry, _your _choice." Hermione jabbed a finger at his chest. " So it's up to _you _to make it right!"

" I don't know _how_." Harry replied, his voice much softer.

" Well, you can start by talking to Sirius, mate." Ron suggested; he had been so quiet in the past few moments, Harry had all but forgotten his presence. " Talk things out, you know? Then we'll have to start planning...we have to go look for Ginny..."

" Where do you propose we look, Ron?' Hermione wheeled on him now, and Harry could see that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. A moment later Hermione stomped her foot angrily, sending a bit of dust arcing upwards from the wooden floorboards, and she pressed her fist to her forehead. " Oh, this is all such a _mess_, just _listen _to me, talking to you boys like you're stupid..."

" It's fine." Ron interrupted, and though Harry still felt stung by Hermione's curt words, he held his tongue.

At that moment, the door swung inward; Ron leaped slightly, Hermione turned, and Harry glanced around as a voice spoke—a dead, hollow voice, like an echo in a metal tunnel—" Molly's served the food. Get downstairs."

There was no warmth to the voice that Harry had once felt insurmountable joy to hear, but nevertheless he forced himself to focus on the figure standing half-concealed in the shadow of the doorway.

Sirius looked, if it was possible, even gaunter than he after his escape from Azkaban; every angle of his form was emaciated, his eyes sunken, his cheekbones waxy and his entire face cast a strange, sickly shade. His hair was long again, down past his shoulders, and it swung forward to shroud his face as he gazed down at the floor by Hermione's feet; he did not meet their eyes.

" C'mon, Hermione." Ron was on his feet in a single bound; he seized Hermione's wrist and pulled her from the room, edging past Sirius without touching him, without speaking to him...he might not have even been there.

Harry felt distinctly awkward in the presence of his godfather; he swung his legs from the bed, but rather than standing, he simply sat there, staring at Sirius as though, by gazing long enough and hard enough, he could restore the former image of the man who had been so like a father to him.

" Er...hi." He muttered, at last.

Sirius's eyes swung up to meet his.

And Harry felt that the frostiness in Sirius's cursory glance had stretched out to wrap an icy hand around his heart; there was no warmth, no familiarity in the look...Harry might have been the troll's-foot umbrella stand downstairs for all of the mind Sirius paid him.

His godfather dipped his head once, curtly, and then turned and was gone. Harry was left alone in the room, his stomach growling with hunger, betraying the part of him that longed to sit still as a statue and never move again.

Gradually, the icy vice unlocked from around his limbs, and Harry was able to move; stiffly, gradually, he rose to his feet, shook each of his arms and legs in turn, and then he headed silently down to the basement, where dinner was already in full swing.

Harry sat beside Ron at the table without a word, and was thankful when Ron didn't ask him about what had transpired with Sirius; in fact, his best mate's only word to him throughout the meal was to ask him if he'd rather have mashed or fried potatoes.

The volume of conversation lulled gradually as food was consumed and stomachs filled; Harry ate more than he had all summer, and his gut cramped uncomfortably as he swallowed his last mouthful. He noted to himself that Sirius was absent from the meal, but chose not to mention this to anyone. Instead he watched, quietly amused and still slightly irked, as Aletris and Tonks argued something to do with the new half-breed legislation; from what Harry could tell, Aletris was in support of it to an extent, while Tonks was so vehemently opposed, Harry couldn't help wondering if she herself was either werewolf or Animagus.

" It's for the good of the wizarding world, of course, and damned safer if we're knowing of who's dangerous and who isn't." Aletris declared, so loudly that most of the room likely heard her, though no one spared her even a passing glance.

" And I suppose you think half-Muggles should be marked too? And every child who might become a wizard?" Tonks snapped heatedly; her hair was a very bright shade of red that made Ron's look dull in comparison. " Not every Animagus, half-blood, and werewolf is a killer, just like not every pure-blood wizard is a saint. Look at the Malfoys, they're as pure and as bad as they come."

Harry thought Tonks's defense was quite a good one, and Lupin, seeming to have overheard their argument, leaned around Mrs. Weasley to add, mildly, " I think we'd all be grateful if you were a bit chaster with your tongue, Aletris. We're not all pure-bloods here." He touched his forehead subtly as he spoke, but Aletris look neither abashed nor chagrined. She simply ignored Lupin and set to her pie without another word.

Harry gulped down half a mug of pumpkin juice in one breath, then set his glass down with a dull _thud _and got to his feet.

" I'm off to bed." He muttered to Ron and Hermione. " G'night."

They nodded and bid him quiet farewell, and Harry escaped to the upper floors as quickly as he could; he felt slightly nauseated and wondered suddenly if his tale to Ron of spending the night in the bathroom would prove true tonight.

He curled up on his bed, alone, and watched the shadows of the trees outside whispering across the roof; his mind replayed all of the horrors it had seen of late like a slideshow, something he could not escape whether his eyes were opened or closed.

At random, he saw Ginny being kidnapped from the train, Collin and Dennis Creevey lying dead in the decimated compartment, their necks snapped, Sirius's stricken face as Harry lashed out at him, the sight of Piers, slack-jawed, possessed by Voldemort, Fred collapsing, blood pouring form his mouth and nose, George's hopeless expression, Sirius's cold-eyed stare...

Harry was only grateful that he had no terrible visions of Ron and Hermione suffering to recall, before he let the stupor that was not sleep claim him, and let his mind drift away into the shadows of vacancy.

Ron entered the room after several hours, paused in the doorway, then stole quietly into his bed and lay down, fully clothed; within moments, he was snoring quite loudly.

Well after midnight, Harry rose and exited the room, and paced for hours after that through the quiet house, careful to avoid Mrs. Black's screaming portrait. He walked until his walk became monotonous, and then he sat in the front room and stared through the windows, and every so often he saw or heard something—from the corner of his eye, with the very last vestige of his hearing—that made him think he was not the only one who was spending the night sleepless.

At exactly six in the morning—with the first faint rays of dawn light beginning to seep over the horizon—Harry stumbled back into his and Ron's bedroom and flung himself sightlessly onto his covers, wishing for either death or sleep to claim him soon; he was so dulled by exhaustion that he did not notice the great, shaggy black dog keeping watch in the shadows outside the door, who rose and padded silently away the moment Harry was safely in his bed.

The sun rose in a pattern of red and gold, and Harry Potter marked his seventh night of sleepless torture.


	7. Interference at Hogwarts

_Author's Notes: It would seem I've begun to settle back into a regular updating scheduel. :_

_Hello dear readers, here is your next chapter! Be it known to you all, the chapter following this one will be quickly forthcoming and rather pivitol, I think, since I've had it planned for some time now. Also, for those who are wondering, I haven't decided Fred's fate yet. I have yet to settle upon whether he lives or dies. We shall soon see, I think! _

Chapter VII: Interference at Hogwarts

* * *

It seemed to take Ron an exceptionally long time to wake up that morning; Harry felt restless and ill, his stomach churning and his heart racing as he lay face-down on his pillow and kept his eyes closed against the sunlight that was shining brightly through the window. He had lain awake, as usual, for the whole of the night, his mind spinning with scattered thoughts that were impossible to tame; from Ginny to Ron and Hermione to Fred to Sirius and back again, like a montage that he had heard too many times and couldn't shake from his head.

He listened to the muted scrabbling of people moving downstairs; Grimmauld Place was packed, and soon, he knew, the meeting would begin. Harry couldn't help but wish that Fred and George had arrived already...although they would be coming soon, he knew, Mrs. Weasley had told them the previous evening during dinner...Harry was well aware that he, Ron, and Hermione would be banished back to the upstairs for the meeting, and the only way they could possibly listen in would be using Extendable Ears, Fred and George's designs...

Wish a heavy sigh, Harry rolled from the bed, changed quickly into faded jeans and a sweatshirt—the air felt unseasonably cold for the fourteenth day in a row—and he headed quietly down to the basement, wondering to himself if Sirius had any stocks of stomach-settling potion; he felt near to vomiting.

The kitchen of Grimmauld Place was mostly deserted; only Molly Weasley was there, sitting at the table clad in a drab-looking nightgown with a mug of tea in her hands, staring at the far wall with vacant, brimming eyes. Harry paused at the foot of the stairs, feeling uncertain, and when Mrs. Weasley did not turn to acknowledge him, he stepped forward and spoke, tentatively.

" Er...Mrs. Weasley?"

" Oh!" She jumped slightly, and twisted round to face him, her plump cheeks flushed. " Oh, Harry, dear, you're awake!"

" Yeah, I am." Harry repressed an ironic smile as he approached the table and pulled out the chair across from her. " D'you mind if I...?"

" No, certainly, by all means, make yourself at home!" Mrs. Weasley withdrew her wand from the pocket of her nightgown, and waved it once; a mug flew from the nearby cupboard, into her hand, and she summoned the kettle of tea from the stove with another swish of her wrist; she filled the glass to the rim and pushed it into Harry's frozen hands. " Here. Drink."

Harry obeyed, though warily, waiting for the nausea in his stomach to peak; however, much to his surprise and relief, the sickness abated slightly as the warm tea seeped down his throat, and after several long moments, he was able to set the drink aside and speak without bile rising in his throat.

" Are...are Fred and George coming?" He inquired tentatively, hoping that Mrs. Weasley would not suspect him of his intent to spy on the meeting using the Extendable Ears.

" Oh, yes, they're coming straightaway this morning...Arthur is bringing them around, he and Kingsley couldn't get away for dinner here last night, but they'll all be arriving shortly."

" That's great, Mrs. Weasley." Harry murmured, setting to his tea again as his inside began to churn. He hadn't realized it before, but there was something hanging between them...hanging between himself and all of the Weasleys...a certain, unnamed tension that was growing more oppressive with each passing day.

" I know." Mrs. Weasley spoke suddenly, and her tone was heavy-hearted. " I know you blame yourself for Ginny's...absence, but dear, you mustn't. There's nothing you could have done, nothing any of you could have done...you're only children, and mostly untrained...I only wish we had gotten your owl sooner."

" I'm sorry." Harry felt desperation welling inside of him as the memories from the train blazed in his mind. " I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I should have protected Ginny...I should have let them kill me, or do whatever it is they wanted to do to me...believe me, if I could, I would change everything..."

" Harry, no one knows _why _You-Know-Who wanted Ginny, she's only a girl...but I know it here, just as you do..." As she spoke, Mrs. Weasley reached out, resting her hand lightly over Harry's heart, " I know that our Ginny is still alive, and still fighting. As long as that hope and knowledge remains, how can we give up? If you...no more than an infant at the time...could send Voldemort nearly to his grave, what's to say you can't save my daughter?"

" I...I don't know how." Harry admitted quietly, turning the mug over in his hands without lifting his eyes from it.

Mrs. Weasley's hand moved from his chest, to his face, and she patted his cheek lightly. When Harry refused to meet her gaze, she slid her hand beneath his chin and forced his head up. Their eyes locked, and Mrs. Weasley's smile wavered as a single tear slipped down her cheek.

" You'll find a way, Harry." She murmured. " After all, you're the Chosen One. And both Albus and Remus have told me how much you excel in your classes. You're bright...you're strong...and you're so very kind. Oh," Another tear followed the first, and Mrs. Weasley placed her free hand on Harry's other cheek. " You look so like your father, Harry, and you really are so _like_ him, and like your mother...compassionate and brave. You'll find a way to right what's wrong with our world...I believe that."

Staring into her eyes, so full of faith, so bright with trust, Harry wondered, suddenly, if this was what it was like to have a mother...a woman who believed in you even if you faltered, even if you fell, even if you did not believe in yourself at all.

His own eyes were moist; Harry was glad when Mrs. Weasley released him so that he could turn away and wipe his wet eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

" Well, then, enough of all that." Mrs. Weasley spoke after a moment, and her voice was steady and strong. " There's food to be made and I'd say a fair bit of cleaning to be done...Harry, dear, would you go and wake Ron and Hermione? I want you three to clear out the room down the hall from Sirius's room, that's where the twins will be staying."

" Sure thing, Mrs. Weasley." Harry replied, and as he headed up the stairs to wake his best friends, he felt just a bit lighter.

* * *

" Blimey." Ron muttered, turning the picture frame over in his hands several times. " How did we miss _this _room while we were cleaning last year?" He tossed the small photograph and its gilt frame into the throwing-away-bag to his left, and plunged his hands once more into the depths of the cardboard box in the corner.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been locked away in the last room of the second floor of Grimmauld Place for nearly an hour, sorting through the odds-and-ends piled within while waiting for breakfast to be served and for the rest of the Order—plus Fred and George—to arrive.

Harry, who was in charge of blasting away any doxies they uncovered, and of sorting through the various books stacked waist-high along the walls, was growing rather strained with Ron's constant complaining, though to himself he admitted that an empty stomach had a tendency to make any Weasley irritable. He remembered the disappointment of the moment that seemed like days ago when the trio had entered the kitchen—Ron rubbing his red-rimmed eyes and yawning hugely, Hermione looking alert and expectant, Harry feeling the exhaustion and nausea beginning to set in again—and Mrs. Weasley had spun them right back up the stairs with the order to not come down for breakfast until the room was spotlessly clean.

" At least we're taking care of it now, when this room can actually be of some use." Hermione attempted to console Ron as she pulled a pewter plate from another box and held it up to eye level. " I _do _wonder how much all this is worth, though..."

" I'd bet my right nut it's worth about as much as your cat, Hermione." Ron replied sullenly.

" Quite valuable, then." Hermione supplied loftily, setting the plate aside. " And don't even _think _about throwing this away, Ronald." She added.

" Wasn't thinking it." Ron mumbled, turning away. He reached into the box, gave a low "Ha!" then pulled something out and cried, " Catch, Harry!"

Harry, who had been examining the dust motes dancing in the weak morning sunlight, whirled to face his best mate, and with the reflexives of a Seeker managed to catch the musty pillow Ron lobbed at his head with the tips of his fingers.

" Good catch!" Ron congratulated. " Looks like the talent hasn't worn off then, has it? I wonder if you could get it from a different angle, though..." His blue eyes wide and speculative, Ron clambered to his feet. Hermione muttered something beneath her breath and dove headlong into another of the boxes.

" Try me." Harry suggested, tossing the pillow back into Ron's waiting hands and ignoring Hermione's severe expression.

" You asked for it, mate." Ron warned, his mood seeming to lighten considerably. He backed to the far end of the semi-dark room, until his shoulder hit the junction of two dark-blue walls. He lifted the pillow high, and watched with narrowed eyes as Harry feinted sideways, placing himself between Ron and a bookshelf near the door of the room.

" Throw it, Ron!" Harry coaxed as his friend hesitated.

" Here goes!"

The pillow sailed end-over-end from Ron's hand; Harry lunged sideways to catch it, and it glanced off of his fingertips, crashed into the bookshelf, and fell to the ground along with several large, leather-bound volumes. Harry flinched, sidestepping as one of the books nearly landed on his foot.

" Oh, you two!" Hermione spat the words like a curse, leaping to her feet. " Don't you have _any _common sense at all?" Without awaiting a response, she kicked the pillow aside and began to pick up the books they had dislodged from the shelf. Ron, looking slightly sheepish, hurried to join her, while Harry retreated several steps and tried to suppress the nausea that had reared into motion in his stomach again.

" Hey, what's this?" Ron spoke suddenly; he had unearthed a book from the mound of them on the floor, one that was longer than it was tall, and he had turned the first page, face a mask of curiosity. His brows knit in confusion as he viewed the contents. " Looks like a...photo album." Comprehension dawned across his face in a moment, and he thumbed through several of the large, heavy pages, his eyes wide with disbelief. " Blimey, Harry, this is all of your dad and his mates at school!"

" What?" Hermione demanded just as Harry said, " Give it here," And stepped forward, pulling the album easily from Ron's unresisting hands.

The album fell open liquidly to near the very middle. Harry's eyes scanned the four photographs jumbled together on two pages; one of his father and Sirius standing near the Great Lake, skipping stones and laughing...one of James and Remus, the former socking the latter on his arm while in the background Peter Pettigrew looked on with an eager smile...one of Sirius with Peter in a headlock, wrestling the smaller boy with a wicked but somehow still genial smile on his face...the last of James sitting perched in the boughs of a great willow tree by the lake, watching as Lily Evans sat on the shore and kicked her feet restlessly through the water...

A great, choking lump swelled up in Harry's throat; he slammed the album closed, sending dust sailing up from its much-abused cover, and he stared down at the faded once-red leather binding for many endless seconds.

" Harry?" Hermione spoke tentatively.

" I...I think I'm going to keep this." Harry muttered, glancing swiftly up at his friends' expectant faces, then away again. " Just for now."

Ron shrugged, and when Hermione opened her mouth as though to press the matter, he laid a hand on her arm and muttered, " Let it go, Hermione."

They returned to the task of cleaning the room with a more solemn air; Ron no longer complained, and Harry, distracted, allowed two doxys to snap at Hermione's fingers before he stunned them with several well-aimed kicks to the head and hurled them out the nearby window.

And all the while that they worked, Harry found himself incapable of banishing those photographs from his mind; they had all looked so happy, James and Sirius and the rest...as though they had not been going to school during a time when a Dark Lord was rising to power. As if two of their number would not be dead within a few years, another a traitor, another a falsely-convicted murderer and the last harshly rejected for a blood-curse he could not shake.

What had the world done to the innocent boys and that quiet girl at the lakeshore, by the tree, wrestling one another, grinning and laughing? When had war and fear and maturity stolen their innocence, set them apart from such a glorious past, turned the girl to a woman and the boys to men? Had they felt the same ripping, tearing passage of the change through their veins, as Harry did now...like he was being torn apart at the seams? And when they were all together, had they ever been those innocent youths again?

" _Harry!_" Hermione's exasperated voice drew him from his troubled thoughts; Harry lurched away from the windowsill and stepped on the doxy that had been advancing on Ron's unsuspecting back. The tiny being beat its fists against the soles of Harry's trainers until he removed his foot, picked it up gingerly, and flung it out the window after its brothers.

" Sorry, Ron." Harry muttered.

Ron was half-buried in a box of old linens and did not reply.

The sun had fully crested the horizon and the room was beginning to heat up uncomfortably when the trio cleared the last of the dust from the bookshelf near the door and surveyed the tidy room; the boxes they had not emptied were stacked in a corner, the single ancient cot was pushed to the opposite end of the room and was hung with fresh sheets and covers thanks to Hermione, and the floor had been swept nearly spotless.

" Too bad Fred and George get the best room in the house." Ron sulked as they made their way downstairs. " Lucky gits."

Harry knew he wasn't truly jealous.

The three friends descended to the basement in exhausted silence, their work complete and the picture album now stored beneath Harry's bed—and they did a double-take when they saw who was seated at the table.

An unconquerable wave of joy rose in Harry's gut, battling back the nausea that the smell of cooking food has once again resurrected, and he abandoned his sense of poise to race forward and embrace the tall figure who had risen from the chair at the sight of them.

" Hagrid!"

" _Hagrid_!"

" Mum, you didn't tell us _Hagrid_ was coming to the meeting!"

" Well of course not, Ronald, I didn't want you to be too hopeful, it was all wishful thinking until just a few moments ago..." Mrs. Weasley smoothed her apron and smiled at her youngest son, who huffed and then hurried forward to shake Hagrid's hand. The moment Harry stepped away from the half-giant, Hermione dashed forward to take his place, a radiant smile tugging at her lips.

" Alrigh', alrigh'." Hagrid muttered, flushing with embarrassment as he patted Hermione's head, hard enough to make her knees buckle. " Yeh alrigh', you three?"

" We're fine, Hagrid." Harry replied, and for the first time in weeks he truly meant it. Seeing Hagrid again had suddenly reminded him of the day he had first learned of his roots as a wizard—it seemed like the only time he had truly appreciated that knowledge, accepted it as a joy rather than a burden—and here, in the warm and homely kitchen, standing with the first wizard he had ever met, who was one of his closest friends, Harry felt himself beginning to remember the joy of being a wizard.

" That's good, 'Arry, that's good." Hagrid nodded absently. " Yeh been thinkin' about what yeh want fer yer birthday?"

" My what?" Harry replied blankly. He was abruptly reeling again, trying to count backward from today's date...what _was_ today's date?

" Blimey, Harry, didn't yeh know, yer birthday's next week!" Hagrid looked astounded that he hadn't remembered, and Harry felt ashamed. It was very difficult to keep track of the passing of time when the days flowed together without a pause...

" Sorry, been busy." Harry mumbled. " Er, I've got no idea...what I want." _For Sirius to stop hating me. For Ginny to be safe. For my mum and dad to still be alive. _His desires were such a jumbled mess, Harry wondered what he might see if he looked again into the Mirror of Erised—that strange, magical glass that showed the heart's deepest desire...

" Jus' have ter surprise yeh, then." Hagrid decided, grinning broadly at Harry, and then he thudded heavily back into his chair and lifted the glass of water Mrs. Weasley had placed before him. For the first time since entering the room, Harry became aware of the presences besides Hagrid that were lingered quietly about the kitchen...Ron's mother standing near the stove, heaping a plate high with bacon and eggs...Lupin leaning against the far wall, watching Hagrid keenly...Tonks sitting on the edge of the table, twirling her wand between her fingers. They all looked very tired and very, very strained.

" You were saying, Hagrid?" Mrs. Weasley prompted as she set the plate of food before him. " About Hogwarts?"

" Hogwarts?" Ron demanded, and Hermione clapped a hand over his mouth, hissing "Shhh!" in his ear.

Lupin glanced their way at once, and his brow furrowed with a frown.

" Perhaps it would be best if you three..."

" Oh, let them stay, Remus, they'll be finding out what's going on at their school soon enough anyway!" Tonks suggested brightly, and when Lupin glanced away she winked at Harry.

" Yeah...things aren't well at Hogwarts, not at all since Professor Dumbledore left." Hagrid shook his head. " Minerva's got 'er hands tied by that bloke runnin' the Ministry and they've already got a new Defense teacher and, let me say, Molly, that man's nothin' but trouble."

" Like Umbridge?' Hermione interjected, her face growing pale.

" No, nothin' like her...bit saner, you might say, or maybe crazier in a different way." Hagrid shrugged, shoveled a generous portion of eggs into his mouth, and swallowed before he went on, " Came to the school, 'e did, lookin' t' check up on the place. Whatever 'e saw, 'e didn' like it, I'd wager, 'cause now Finch's givin' 'im the go-ahead to punish the students 'owever he wants."

Tonks's eyes widened; Mrs. Weasley gasped, her hand flying to her heart; Lupin's arms crossed over his chest and a snarl that was very nearly not-human thundered from his chest; for the first time, Harry saw the wolf in the man before him.

" That's _illegal_." Lupin growled. " They can't possibly..."

" Oh, they 'ave, trust me." Hagrid's voice was dark, dark like his face had suddenly become. " Seems somebody let slip that one o' the students was 'avin' weird happenin's...strange dreams and whatnot, startin' protests to the Ministry right under Professor Dumbledore's nose, inside o' Hogwarts...and they're lookin' to get Professor Dumbledore under their thumb."

" Wait...me?" Harry's heart felt like ice in his chest as Hagrid's words registered. " They're using _me _as an excuse to _torture_ people? To get to Professor Dumbledore?"

" It 'asn't come to torture just yet, Harry." Hagrid placated him. " Jus' stricter rules...yeh know, earlier curfews, keepin' a closer eye on the students. An' every teacher's got the go-ahead to do _that_..." As he spoke, Hagrid gestured to the back of Harry's hand, where the words _I must not tell lies_ were permanently engraved on his skin. " To anyone does anythin' they don't approve of."

" That's just _sick_." Hermione whispered; her hand was still on Ron's mouth, and he pried her fingers from his face as she spoke. " _Sick_. They can't possibly do that, it must be illegal..." She glanced at Lupin as she spoke, showing her support to his protest, but it was neither Lupin nor Hagrid who spoke next...it was Tonks.

" This must be what's got Mad-Eye in a whirl, he's been looking things up about teachers' boundaries all this summer...things they're allowed to do, limits on their authority...so far there's not been much. Every house except for Slytherin has been doing everything they can to eradicate loyalty to You-Know-Who since the first war, I guess back in the day they were using pretty harsh measures and just about every ban got lifted..."

" So they can do whatever they _want?_" Hermione sounded nearly tearful; Harry could see it in her eyes, she was thinking about all of the first-years who wouldn't know any better, who might slip up and get themselves in serious trouble...

" Calm down, Hermione." Ron urged, nudging her shoulder with his. " This is _Hogwarts_ we're talking about, right? Most of the Professors aren't going to string us up by our ankles and beat us, they're on Dumbledore's side!"

" Except for Filch and Mrs. Norris." Harry pointed out darkly. " I'll bet you a month's worth of Quidditch matches they'll be doing this new teacher's dirty work, just like last year for Umbridge...remember how Filch almost went off and beat Fred and George last year?"

" Don't remind me." Ron shuddered.

" Anyway, it's only this new bloke you'll need to worry about, Minerva and Flitwick and the rest'll go easy on you, and besides, this new teacher will only be around until Dumbledore finds someone to replace him." Tonks concluded confidently.

" Better not be Snape, I'm liable to hex his ears off if he tries to teach us something about the Dark Arts..." Ron began.

" You _called_, Weasley?"

Ron's neck flushed a brilliant shade of red as the words echoed with clipped finality around them, and he whirled, coming nearly eye-to-eye with Severus Snape, the Potions master at Hogwarts...who was currently standing behind him and looking quite impatient.

Harry cursed to himself; he had forgotten that Snape was a member of the Order, and his former Occlumency teacher besides. The hatred between them seemed to pulse as the moments elongated, then tension beginning to seep through the air, noticeably more potent now that Harry had seen into Snape's mind and past, had witnessed much that had made him what he was...

As though he had heard the track of Harry's scattered thoughts, Snape glanced away from Ron, meeting Harry's gaze with eyes that were like black fire...there was infinite reproach in their depths, and Harry was suddenly and forcibly reminded of the last time he had seen Snape face to face...when his professor had said he would sympathize with Professor Umbridge causing harm to Harry and his friends.

The memory gave Harry courage beyond his usual measure; he drew himself upright, met Snape's gaze levelly, and then turned his back on his professor and went to sit beside Tonks. She gave him a knowing look, but said nothing; Ron and Hermione soon joined him.

" Severus." Mrs. Weasley nodded stiffly to him. " Why don't you sit? The others should be along short—"

There was slamming sound from upstairs, and before Mrs. Weasley could even say, " Not _again!_", the portrait of Mistress Black was screaming. Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks dashed from the room; Snape however seated himself and placed his face in one hand. Harry found the gesture somehow funny, and he had to bite back his laughter.

There was the sound of footsteps padding quietly down the stairs to interrupt the brief moment of silence; Harry glanced around, and Snape picked up his face from his hand as Aletris slumped into the room, hair in wild disarray, eyes clouded with sleep, a bit of dried spittle on her chin.

" Morning." She yawned, and then she paused halfway to the counter, her attention focusing on their newest guest; her eyes widened slightly, a slow, feline smile arching across her lips. " Well, well, if it isn't Snape!" And then she began to chant, in a voice that Harry found most gratingly displeasing, " Snape, Snape, Severus Snape! Snape, Snape, Severus..."

" Thank you for that warm welcome, Aletris." Snape's voice was so cold, Harry felt as though winter had come early. " But I'll thank you to act your age. We're no longer school children, as you might have noticed, and it seems I no longer have any reason to hate the very immature, arrogant, stupid boy you had an attraction to, seeing as how he is dead. So perhaps we should let bygones be bygones?"

" You're the one who's immature, Snape. Always talking down to people, treating them like they're so much lesser than you," Aletris replied sagely, her tone aggravatingly light. " But, if you insist..."

She made a point of ramming into the back of his chair in passing.

" Wait. You fancied my dad?" Harry demanded as Aletris poured herself a mug of tea.

" Oh, I'd wager every girl in the school had a crush on James Potter at some point or another. Just figures he had to run off and get married to the innocent do-gooder Lily Evans, what he saw in that witch is beyond me, Muggle-born and hated him from day one..."

Harry wondered if this woman was capable of opening her mouth and _not _insulting people Harry cared about.

What surprised him more than Aletris's words was Snape's reaction; he got to his feet in a motion so swift it didn't seem natural, and he glared at Aletris for one long moment before turning and hurrying up the stairs. He vanished from view, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone with Aletris, and Hagrid, who was eating his eggs very slowly and pretending not to have heard their conversation.

" Well..." Harry began when the confusion at Snape's frosty reaction had worn off. " Shall we go up?"

" Right behind you, mate." Ron muttered, glancing furtively at Aletris as he spoke. Hermione was glaring steely at Aletris, clearly offended by her remark at Muggle-borns. Sensing a long-winded lecture brewing, Harry grabbed Hermione's elbow, pulled her from her chair, and made a hasty escape up the stairs, calling, "See you around, Hagrid," Over his shoulder as he went.

" That woman is foul." Ron stated as soon as they were out of earshot. " You'd think she's never been around people before, the way she talks...can't open her mouth without insulting someone."

" Some people are just like that, Ron." Hermione sighed, though she herself still looked slightly offended. " Maybe she can't help it."

" Well, she should." Harry replied fiercely. " She hardly knew my dad or my mum, she was just some girl who had an eye on my dad, and she's insulting him to my face?" The anger was still burning hot through his veins.

" Don't let her get to you, mate." Ron advised quietly.

" Best listen to him, Harry, that woman's been nothing but an awful git since she first got here." A voice added from the foyer to their right; Harry spun about, and for the second time that morning an enormous grin split across his face. He was so unaccustomed to this much smiling, he wondered if his jaw would be aching before long.

" George!" Ron's voice echoed around them shrilly, and he raced forward to embrace his brother as though it had been weeks, not hours, since they had last seen one another.

" Geroff me before I hex you, little brother." George snapped, but his tone was friendly, and he only pushed Ron out to arm's length. After a moment, he continued, in a sardonic tone," It's been forever, hasn't it, I'd expected you to grow a beard and be sprouting little fuzzies all over your nuts, but look at you, you're still scrawny and clean as a whistle." He smacked Ron's cheek none too lightly as he spoke, and it was Ron's turn to look affronted.

" Aright, enough of the jokes." He muttered, stepping out from beneath George's hand, his face flushed with embarrassment. He added something beneath his breath that might have been '_gray fuzzies_', and he sounded very sulky.

" How's Fred?' Hermione demanded as she joined Ron, Harry just behind her.

" Better. Woke up this morning for a spell, drank a bit, but he started coughing up and dad says he's not mended enough to eat or drink." George shrugged, as though this news could not stain his optimism. " He might be awake now, Mum and dad just put him up in his room..."

" Let's go see him!" Ron was utterly eager again, and Harry felt as though the enthusiasm, contagious, was seeping through his veins, helping him to shed his anger at Aletris like a snake skin.

The four friends thundered up the stairs, caring little for the ruckus they made, and they raced each other down the corridor to Fred's room; outside the door, however, they stopped, and the entered much more quietly than they had arrived.

The room was still dimly-lit, the dusty drapes shuttered over the single window; Arthur and Molly Weasley, along with Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, were just leaving as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George entered; there was much limb-bumping and apologies as they all attempted to squeeze through the narrow doorway at the same time, and then the door was shut and the four stood alone, gazing at Fred's bed apprehensively.

" Do you think he's awake?" Hermione whispered, leaning forward to peer through the semi-gloom.

" I don't know, Fred, what do you think? Are you awake?" George demanded loudly, causing Hermione to jump and Ron to cringe.

" Right as always, George." Fred's voice was softer than usual, less round, but bright nonetheless. " Once more you've seen right through me to the _heart _of the matter."

" Oh, were mum and dear old dad worrying about your heart again?" George's tone was patronizing, and he hurried across the room to fall heavily onto the foot of Fred's bed. " Been at that for at least two hours today."

" Nothing original while I was out?"

" Nothing."

" Well, I suppose that's that." Fred sighed heavily, and then his voice lightened even further, and he added, " Well, well, if it isn't ickle Ronniekins and the rest of the Golden Trio! Come to see me off to my death?"

" Don't _say _that!" Hermione snapped as she made her way to the foot of the bed; Harry and Ron followed silently behind her.

" Only joking, Granger, really, lighten up." Fred laughed weakly as they came to stand around his bed. Harry's stomach clenched with pity.

Fred looked strange, ill, like a man who had aged several years within a matter of days. His skin was waxy and his eyes over-bright, and several clumps of his fiery hair were missing; there were red splotches on his arms and face, and he was breathing fast and with great difficulty.

And yet still he was laughing, or making an effort to, his chest heaving as he propped himself up on the ancient pillow and forced a grin for them all.

" So, mum and dad are talking about me dying behind my back, eh? What lovely parents. Privileged, aren't we, George, to be in this family?"

" Privileged, privileged." George echoed with a sage nod to punctuate the words.

" Well, at least if you die, you'll have done it for giving Voldemort a nasty lesson in street-fighting." Ron chuckled, clearly picturing the sight of Fred bludgeoning Piers' face in as he knew the scene through Harry's and Hermione's explanations.

" That's _awful_, Ronald." Hermione hissed. " How could you even _say _that?"

" What? I'm just making a..."

" Enough, you two, alright?" Harry interrupted, feeling quite irked by their bickering. " Just...Hermione, let it go."

She looked away without replying.

" So, now that that cheerful welcome is done..." George began when the silence grew thick with awkwardness. " If you three don't mind, Fred and I have some Wizard Wheezes things to go over...business matters, you wouldn't understand..."

Taking the hint that George wanted to be alone with his twin, Harry got to his feet at once; much more reluctantly, Ron and Hermione followed. They bid Fred and George quiet farewells, and then turned to go.

" Ron!"

Fred's voice stopped them.

" Of course I remember the bloody teddy bear."

Ron's shoulders heaved once.

And Harry turned to leave as Hermione wrapped her arm around Ron's shoulders and began to speak quietly to him; he didn't think he could take any more of the death, the suffering, any more than he could bear to remember the image that was now burned into his mind...Ron's tears falling silently as he wept for a brother who was, despite all apparent progress, still dying.

Harry returned to the empty bedroom and pulled out the photo album; unthinking, he flipped to the last page and stared at the two simple photographs plastered there; one of Sirius and Remus, sitting on the steps of Grimmauld Place during Christmastime in hats and scarves, their eyes bright and their cheeks red with cold, their faces split into identical grins; the picture could not have been very old, for there, sitting on Sirius's knee, was Harry himself, though exceptionally younger, his green eyes looking anywhere but at the camera; Sirius was holding him very tightly, protectively, and Lupin was reaching over every few seconds to stroke the back of Harry's tiny hand with a single finger.

His throat swelled at the sight of their happiness—his own distant happiness—and Harry skipped over that photo quickly.

The second picture was of James and Lily, and it looked to be from their wedding; they were dancing, Lily in a flowing white dress and James in a fine black suit; her arms were around his neck and his were around her waist, and they were spinning so fast, their eyes locked...

And at the bottom of the picture was an inscription penned in a slight, slanting hand; Harry leaned his face close to read it, his heart pounding, knowing somehow _without _knowing that it was his mother's writing.

The letters were a quote, written in smallish letters:

_Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future. We are not afraid._

Harry stared at the words until they swam before his eyes.

" Mum...dad." He whispered the words. " Why did you have to die? I really...really...need you."

And it truly felt as though he needed them now more than ever; now, when Ginny was missing, Fred was dying, Hogwarts was collapsing and Sirius hated him. Now, when everything his parents had worked for and died for seemed to be crumbling.

There was a sudden, loud clattering from downstairs, the sound of many voices raised at once, speaking, echoing up the stairs and hammering against Harry's ears, drawing him from his grief-stricken reverie. It sounded like the many overlapping voices of the portraits hanging in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

_For the ones we've lost_

_Who have gone before_

_For those so young_

_Who will never know_

_For the blood that's shed_

_For the wounds that bled_

_We stand, we stand_

_The Order of the Phoenix_

A chill raced unbidden down Harry's spine.

The meeting had begun.


	8. Of Dogs and Wolves

_Author's Notes: Finally! After much tedious build-up, this is the chapter where the plot, albeit slowly, begins to shine forth. I'd like to give a shout out to my only steady reviewer, **barmy-ol-badger**, whose reviews always give me an extra burst of inspiration! Thank you all for reading, and as always, please, take the time to review! It would mean ever so much to me if you did!_

Chapter VIII: Of Dogs and Wolves

* * *

Harry crept from his room on quiet feet, stealing down the long, brightly lit hallway to the top of the stairs. Aggravation overwhelmed him when he realized he could hear the murmuring of the Order below, but not well; the words were garbled and strained, indistinguishable.

" Damn." He swore aloud, frustration fueling his anger.

" Looking for something, mate?"

And Ron and Hermione stepped up to join him, holding three pairs of Extendable Ears and looking quite pleased with themselves; Ron's eyes were completely dry, but he looked very determined as he offered one set of the Ears to Harry and, with a mischievous grin, added an undertone, " Fred and George gave 'em to me. Said if anything interesting happened, they'd want to hear it from me."

Harry's smile was so wide, it hurt his cheeks.

" Shall we go down?" Hermione interrupted them; her eyes were shining and her face flushed with excitement. It seemed that, for once, her curiosity had overwhelmed her strict biding to rules. " It sounds as if they're in the sitting room, we'll be able to hear even better from down in the foyer..."

" I'll go." Harry decided quickly. " The pair of you can stay here, listen in...if they catch me at the door, I don't want either of you in trouble..."

Ron and Hermione both looked extremely disappointed, and so Harry made his escape down the stairs before either of them could protest. Relieved that they did not follow him, Harry crept on soundless feet as far as the sitting room door, then dropped onto his stomach and wriggled forward to slide the Extendable Ear against the crack at the bottom of the door. To his shock and utmost trepidation, the door swung inward a fraction, allowing him the most minute view of the room.

Harry lurched back onto his heels, waiting with baited breath for the murmuring conversation to halt, for someone to look round and see him there; but no one turned, and after a moment Harry adjusted his position so that he could see without being seen, and he desperately hoped that Mad-Eye Moody would not look this way with his all-seeing eye. Keeping the Extendable Ear pressed against the door, Harry lifted his head a fraction and craned his neck for a better view.

He could see little of the room; all of the furniture within had been rearranged, however, and from what little perspective was granted his limited vision, he was able to see that the Order was seated in a semi-circular formation; Mrs. Weasley and her husband, Lupin, Tonks, Hestia, and—Harry felt a shiver of shock and anxiety tremble through him—Sirius, leaning his chair back on two legs and looking utterly indifferent, Snape beside him, lip curled angrily, and Aletris. Harry could see none of the others...Kingsley, Dadelus Diggle, Mundungus Fletcher—if he had arrived at all—Mad-Eye, Hagrid, Emmaline. He tallied their names off silently, wondered if he had forgotten anyone, and then banished this thought as Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat and spoke, her voice slightly atremble.

" Things are changing." She stated solemnly, apropos of nothing that Harry was aware of. " It's becoming more and more difficult to rally those who would believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned...the fear is too rampant."

" Fear was against us last time, Molly." Lupin pointed out quietly. " I think it's time we looked beyond that possibility, to the heart of the matter."

" That being...?" Mrs. Weasley trailed off significantly.

" That Voldemort's army is even larger and more terrible than we had imagined, perhaps even more so than last time." Lupin's voice was heavy. " He's recruiting his followers so young, now. Children, some still in school...far too many are falling under his spell, and I don't mean that literally...unfortunately. This is less a matter of _fear_, and more of...loyalties. Less wizards and witches _want _to be on our side. Whispering from ear to ear is no longer an effective way of recruiting for the Order."

" But what else can we do?" Tonks spoke, sounding desperate. " We've got the greatest wizard in the world looking after Hogwarts, and even _he _can't purge Slytherin of the would-be Death Eaters."

" Might be easier if Snivellus was trying for that goal that himself." Sirius's voice was cold, haughty; for the first time since discovering his godfather's innocence nearly three full years prior, Harry was able to compare him to the terrible pure-bloods like Malfoy, who behaved as though all other wizards were their inferiors.

" At least I'm _trying_, Black." Snape's words were fringed with ice. " Better than laying about _wasting _my time in selfish laziness, _don't _you agree?" He placed strange emphasis on the words, and Harry heard a loud _bang _as Sirius let his chair fall back to the floor.

" Watch yourself, Snivelly." He threatened.

Harry's hand itched toward his wand, tucked away in the waistband of his jeans, though he didn't know why; he was still frozen, the Extendable Ear pressed to the door. He had to hand it to Fred and George, they had improved the model significantly...it now improved the volume of sound as well as the user's listening distance...

" Calm down, Sirius!" The cross voice sounded like Hestia Jones. " Severus, put your wand away, this isn't the time for a duel between childhood rivals."

The stirrings beyond the door increased to a wasp-like buzz; Harry wondered how much of this Ron and Hermione could hear.

" Now, can we _please _get back to the matter at hand?" Tonks demanded tartly, and when no one complained, she continued, " We've _got _to find a better way to counteract You-Know-Who's progress. For every step we take to block him, he finds a way around, and we're forced to back off and rally. We're losing so much on every side..."

Mrs. Weasley let out a barely audible moan of despair; Harry's mind split and fled, half resting on Ginny, half on Fred, and he remembered his discussion with Hermione at the Burrow, about the possibility of the Weasley family being targeted personally by Voldemort...

" No one feels that pain more heavily than my family." Arthur Weasley spoke up, his voice slow and thoughtful. " But if Dumbledore feels that our...that our rallying _point _should be...well, you know...who are we to argue with him? I'm sure he's looked at every angle of the matter..."

" This is the Order of the Phoenix, Arthur, not the Committee of Dumbledore's Mindless Underlings." Sirius pointed out darkly. " If there's any doubt, we should look for ourselves."

" Forgetting, for the moment, that you're not even allowed outside of the house," Lupin interjected, though not unkindly, " What do you expect to _do, _Padfoot? You can't just go marching off to look at things, not with the enemy's eye on us, always. Even _you _aren't that rash."

" Shut up, Remus." Sirius's retort was harsh and swift. " I don't seem to remember _you _paying much attention to what's right and what isn't when it comes to potions and house-elves."

Harry could see Lupin flinch out of his narrow window of vision, and a great anger at his godfather rose in Harry's chest, momentarily blocking his airways.

" If you don't shut up, Black, I'll hex you." Aletris's tone was bored as she voiced the statement. " It's you who should take a breather. All of you. You're so rigid on your rules, you're not even looking at the big picture."

" That being...?" It was Kingsley who spoke, sounding thoroughly interested.

" What are you going to do if You-Know-Who _does _get the upper hand? Fight a losing battle, or join him?"

There was a shocked silence on both ends; Harry felt the disbelief freezing his limbs, and for a moment he thought Dumbledore mad for letting this witch into their secret society. How could she even _suggest _joining the enemy?

The stiff quiet gave way gradually to uncertain murmurings, and then Arthur Weasley spoke, relaying Sirius's earlier words with some alterations.

" This is the Order of the Phoenix, Aletris. We are here because we refuse to give in to the darkness that cloaks our world...because we refuse to give ground to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We are here because we have sworn to face death before we join the enemy. To say otherwise is..."

" Granted, you've taken up that vow." Aletris interrupted, her tone breezy. " But what about your children, Arthur? Molly? What about your precious godson, Black? What about the half-blood do-gooder? Would you sacrifice _them_ rather than join? Would you watch them suffer a fate like the Longbottoms? The McKinnons? The Prewetts? Would you seem them tortured, defiled, Kissed, murdered? Or would you watch it happen, for the sake of your precious cause? Are you really so heartless, so cruel? Do you want your children to end up like the Potters, murdered because they got in too deep?"

There was a loud scraping and a scuffle as someone rose abruptly from their chair.

" That's out of line, Aletris!" Harry could see Snape and Sirius and Lupin all on their feet, wands out and pointing at Aletris, and he could see that it was Mad-Eye who had spoken, who was also standing, and whose authoritative tones now rolled through the room, making Harry feel like a small child in comparison. " I'll not have you _slandering _the names of the fallen right here in front of us." His tone was level, but harsh.

" Someone's got to have the backbone to say it, Moody!" Aletris retaliated, and she climbed to her feet as well; her hands were clenched into angry fists at her sides. " If there's one thing about this Order that I can't _stand_, it's that you're all so bloody frightened of admitting the truth...that it was You-Know-Who's fault those people died, true enough, but the bottom line is that they chose the wrong side in the First War! How do you know you've chosen right this time?"

Harry's blood was pounding in his ears; he could see only a sliver of the goings-no beyond the door, but he sensed the meeting was teetering on the verge of exploding into a full-fledged duel between comrades. For the second time in five minutes, his hand itched toward his wand.

" If you're so certain we're all damned..." Sirius spoke the words through clenched teeth. " Then why did you choose to join the Order in the _first _place?"

" Self preservation, Black! For now, you're the winning side. But what's to happen if every single witch or wizard defies You-Know-Who and _dies_, hmmm? Whose to carry on and give birth and raise _others _of our kind to combat him in later years?"

" So you expect all of us to switch sides when it might be in our best interest?" Tonks sounded scandalized; she had leaped to her feet beside Lupin, and her hair was turning fiery red with the force of her fury. " We're loyal warriors in an army serving on the side of Light, Aletris, not drifters! We're not in this for ourselves!"

" Then what _are _you in it for?" Aletris demanded heatedly.

There was a moment of silence as each member of the Order mulled over their response. It was Mad-Eye who spoke at last, calm as could be.

" We're fighting this war for the likes of that _boy _whose lying upstairs in a bed _dying _because Voldemort couldn't leave Harry Potter alone." He said quietly. " And I'll be damned if I see another one going down the same road. Fred Weasley isn't the first Voldemort's gone after, but I'll die myself before I see another student in his condition."

Mrs. Weasley stifled a sob; Harry felt sympathy welling poignantly inside him as he listened intently to the still silence.

" Given." Aletris relented after a moment. " But I thought we were all in this for survival, not to try and fight a battle we can't win. I thought the point was strength in numbers, not idiocy in the masses. I won't end up like the Longbottoms or the Potters."

Sirius must have made some movement toward her, threatening, because Harry heard Lupin's voice, soft, urgent.

" Let it _go_, Padfoot."

There was an explosion of furious sound from beyond the door. Harry felt something breaking, shattering, tearing inside of him, something fracturing both inside and out, as though some critical balance of the universe had been rent apart. He heard a high, cruel laugh of victory ringing in his ears very distantly, felt his heart stop entirely, then kick up a notch as a voice that was barely human knifed through the air.

" Get away from me, Lupin!"

" Sirius, no, don't—!"

" Nymphadora, get back!"

" Mad-Eye, I told you not to—"

" Sirius, Remus, stand down _now!_"

Pain exploded behind Harry's scar; he pitched forward, arms wrapped around his chest, fighting back a cry of agony as horrible, cold, triumphant laughter echoed in his ears...he could see, vaguely, on the edges of his vision, the dark of an enormous, manor-like house...a fireplace...the flicker of a chandelier, reflecting flames...and despite the fear and the anguish there was satisfaction, too...satisfaction that was not his own...

The images flashed past and faded almost at once, leaving Harry shivering in a cold sweat on the hall rug, the Extendable Ear in his fisted hand, his heart pounding and his eyes staring sightlessly as his mind whirled.

_Voldemort's getting what he wants...the Order is splitting...fighting inside of itself...Sirius and Lupin...Aletris...Mrs. Weasley...the greatest fighting force against him...Dumbledore gone...it's all falling apart..._

" Remus? _Remus?!_"

" Sirius, no, not here, don't transform...!"

" _Protego! _What is the matter with you two? _Protego!!_"

The Order meeting had descended into chaos; Harry pushed himself upright, shook his head to clear it, and made ready to leap through the doors and into the fray; his wand was halfway into his hands when a voice rang out, louder than all of the rest, echoing beyond the door " Sirius Orion Black, Remus John Lupin, you will stay your wands and _stand down _this _instant!"_

Harry hadn't thought Mrs. Weasley could sound so menacing; chancing a glance through the doorway, he saw her standing with her wand in one hand, her husband's in the other, one wand-tip pointing at Sirius, the other at Lupin; the two men were squaring up to one another while the rest of the Order looked on, frozen, looking torn between restless anxiety and true fear.

Only two people seemed unaffected; Aletris looked merely bored, like she was watching a pair of wolves fighting, and Snape's smile was smug with amusement.

" Hagrid." Mrs. Weasley spoke it as a command.

" Righ', you two." Hagrid muttered gruffly. He shouldered his way between Lupin and Sirius; Lupin staggered back against Tonks, who nearly fell, while Sirius skidded across the rug and glared through his dark hair at Hagrid's nervous face.

" This is a meeting of the Order." Mrs. Weasley stated, her voice dangerously stony. " _Not _a time for the pair of you to sort out disputes over unconsumed potions and house-elves that are unfortunately no longer with us. If you have an issue to address with Remus, Sirius, you can do that on your _own _time, rather than brooding in your room. And Remus, if you're going to be aggressive, channel it into future fights against Death Eaters. Am I clear?"

" Perfectly, Molly." Remus muttered. He looked flushed and far angrier than Harry had ever seen him.

Sirius grunted, then flung himself into his chair beside Hestia and folded his arms. She glanced sidelong at him, nervous.

Remus and Tonks returned to their seats as well, and Hagrid and Aletris followed suit. Harry, his face pressed into the crack in the door, found it hard to believe that such a heated argument had been sorted out so easily; still, he sensed that the tension was straining beneath the surface, barely contained.

The last echo of Voldemort's laughter still rang in his ears as Harry pressed the Extendable Ear to the door and leaned forward to listen again.

" Now." Mrs. Weasley sounded breathless, but composed. " _If _we can conduct ourselves in a manner suitable for adult witches and wizards, I think it's time we rallied and then scattered again."

" Oh, _again?_" Emmaline spoke for the first time, sounding faintly put-out. " I was hoping to visit my niece before term started..."

" I'm sorry, Em, but it's too important." Arthur Weasley spoke, his tone kind. " It seems we've effectively deceived them all...they think they've seen all there is to _be _seen...but we can't take our chances. We fought our last battle well...it was a risk, letting them get that close, letting them get their hands on something almost as important...letting them glimpse but not see...however..."

" You think they'll got curious again." Lupin supplied; he sounded slightly hollow-voiced, but certain of his assumption.

" Exactly." Mr. Weasley replied. " After all, it was something he knew about...something predictable. He'll expect the unexpected, now, in fact, he'll be searching for it, I'm almost certain...that's why we have to tighten the security..."

There was a pause; Harry pushed his confusion and the faint tugging of knowledge into the corner of his mind, and strained to hear every word.

" But Arthur, we're already stretched as thin as a toad's skin on an owl's backside." Dadelus Diggle complained. " Between patrolling the countryside and visiting Hogwarts and taking envoys to the giants...many thanks to _you _for that, Hagrid...and then keeping an eye on the Boy Who Lived...well, that's quite a hefty lot to do for such a small force..."

" We'll find a way." Mr. Weasley murmured decisively. " Hagrid, I can't ask more of you or Madam Maxime than I already have..."

" Aw, now..." Hagrid sounded flustered.

"...And we need Molly here to take care of Fred." Mr. Weasley went on. " I've called on Bill and Charlie, asking them to come and help bolster the forces here. They'll be with me most of the time."

" What do you need me to do, Arthur, since it sounds like you've already thought things out?" Lupin inquired, sounding faintly and forcedly amused.

" Remus, you and Tonks and Mad-Eye should be the escorts on the Express again, if they'll allow it. We need Kingsley exactly where he is right now, close to the Minister. Emmaline, Hestia, you'll rotate shifts with Bill, Charlie, and myself...and maybe, if he'll agree..."

" No." Mrs. Weasley's voice was firm, guessing what her husband would say next. " Absolutely not, Arthur."

" Molly, George is of age now, and he's out of school, what's more." Arthur pleaded. " He's well old enough to be inducted into the Order...not a child anymore..." His voice faded out as he alternated between speaking aloud and whispering to his wife. Harry listened, wondering at their verdict...

But they did not speak it; instead Arthur went on to address the others.

" Dadelus, you'll need to keep an eye on Diagon Alley as always...make sure no suspicious folk pass through...and Severus, I understand you're working for Dumbledore personally..."

" And what about _me_?" Aletris interrupted curtly. " If I'm going to be part of your Order, I might as well make myself useful."

" Right." Mr. Weasley seemed to mull it over. " Aletris, you'll help with the escorts. That entails making regular sweeps of Hogwarts grounds, watching for intruders or suspicious folk."

" Hm. Sounds like a cauldron of fun." Aletris muttered.

" Right." Mr. Weasley repeated. " And, er...Sirius."

There was another moment of pause.

" Since he hasn't done his part yet..." Mr. Weasley began again at last.

" And it doesn't look like he will, the way he's acting...like he hates me, he won't even look at me..." Sirius interjected bitterly.

" Maybe you should stay here, for the time being."

Harry heard a low, heavy sigh, and then the sound of a chair scraping back and footsteps thudding across the floor; too late, he realized they were coming in his direction. He pulled the Extendable Ear away from the door and rolled back just as Sirius sidled from the room and slammed the door behind him.

For a moment the two wizards stared at one another; Harry with sheepish trepidation, Sirius with the lingering frustration brimming beneath the dead grey of his eyes. Harry could not help thinking that this was not the man he had grown to love...as his father and brother in one, his close friend, his confidante and his mentor. This person was a bitter, angry stranger who was as familiar to him as any first-year at Hogwarts.

And it pained him that it should be this way.

" Er...hi." Harry said at last. The words felt strange on his tongue.

Sirius's shoulders moved in what might have been a shrug; then he was gone, up the stairs and out of sight.

It was better than a rebuff for his spying, though Harry still felt exceptionally hollow as he climbed to his feet, stowed the Ear in his pocket, and hurried up the stairs after his godfather.

Ron and Hermione met him on the edge of the first-floor landing; they were both white-faced and Hermione was very tight lipped. Ron's eyes were full of shock.

" That could have gotten messy, mate." Were the first words out of Ron's mouth.

" Yeah." Harry avoided his friend's eyes. " Good thing it didn't."

" Oh, they simply _can't_ keep fighting amongst themselves like this, it's not right..." Hermione bit her lip and glanced anxiously beyond Harry, to the bottom of the stairs. " What would Professor Dumbledore say if he knew they were almost coming to blows over this?"

" I s'pose we'll find out, eventually." Harry muttered, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. Hermione's words reminded him that Hedwig still hadn't returned with a letter from the Hogwarts Headmaster, and that reminder made him feel a fair bit nauseous. " C'mon, let's get out of here...we don't want the others to know we've been spying..."

They retreated to Harry and Ron's room, where the boys took to their beds while Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor; Crookshanks, paws still singed, limped over to sit in her lap, and she stroked him from his fluffy head to the tip of his bottle-brush tail while staring thoughtfully out the window.

" I can't help thinking..." She spoke at last, then broke off with an, " Oh, you bad cat!" As Crookshanks made a swipe for the Extendable Ear protruding from her jeans' pocket. Pushing the cat away, Hermione continued, " I can't help thinking that helping Fred would be so simple if only we had that book...you know, the one we used to learn the Polyjuice Potion...oh, I feel so _helpless_, the answer is right there and I just can't recall...!" Her voice was heavy with despair.

" Don't blame yourself, Hermione." Ron advised, leaning back against his pillow with a sigh. " Maybe dad'll find someone at the Ministry who can help..."

" You really think your dad's going to tell everyone his son got into it with Voldemort, in a Muggle home, with the family of Harry Potter?" Hermione demanded waspishly. " It's a miracle Fred hasn't gotten a letter from them already for use of magic in front of non-magical folk, I'll bet your dad has already been pulling strings behind the scenes..."

" Oh." Ron paused. " Right. Blimey, hadn't thought of that..."

" Obviously." Hermione retorted loftily, turning away from him. " Healers and potions aside, though, what we really need is that book...Harry, when we get back to Hogwarts, I don't suppose you could sneak into the library and...?"

" Sorry, but no." Harry felt a wave of frustration crash over him as he was forced to turn her down. " I lost my dad's cloak on the train, remember?"

" Right." Hermione sighed. " Well, I suppose I could ask Professor Dumbledore, assuming he comes back at the start of term, but..."

" He might think we're up to something worse than we are." Ron interrupted. Thoughtfully, he added, " Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind taking another poke at that book...some of it was really sick stuff, but I bet it could be useful, too..."

" Oh, Ronald..."

Harry let their conversation slip away as the pair began to argue about what was allowable and what wasn't on the subject of forbidden arts; a rather redundant subject, Harry thought, and so he ignored them, massaging absently at his forehead and staring out the window.

He couldn't repress his disgust at the..._euphoria_ he had felt emanating from Voldemort, there was no other word for it...such a boundless joy, like the Dark Lord had been granted everything he had ever wanted in a single moment. Harry wondered if this exhilaration was a result of the Order's bickering, or something else entirely...

His mind veered sharply to recall Arthur Weasley's strange words, about allowing _someone_ to catch a glimpse of...something, something very valuable, he guessed...something _they_ would get curious about again...

It hurt his mind too much to think about, though he did wonder, vaguely, if Voldemort was already aware of this very secret thing, and it the Order's fighting was somehow bringing him closer to it...

But how _would _Voldemort know of the tension mounting in the Order? Every member was loyal...even Aletris, for the time being. Unless Voldemort was somehow strangely connected to all of them, he couldn't know...

Unless...

Harry's hand ceased to rub soothing circles against his scar; his hand tightened into a fist against his skin.

What if _he _was that long-sought-after connection? What if Voldemort was able to view the world through Harry's eyes, just as Harry had done by means of Voldemort's faithful serpent, Nagini, during the previous school year?

These thoughts chased each other around Harry's head, making no sense of anything whatsoever, until the bedroom door swung suddenly inward and Mrs. Weasley entered, clutching three letters in her hands, her unexpected arrival breaking into his reverie. Harry dropped his arm to his side and sat up as Ron's mother set a heavy envelope onto his bed.

" Your O.W.L scores." Mrs. Weasley informed him, positively beaming with a sort of pleasure that belied any of the lingering strain in the air; the disastrous Order meeting might never have happened.

Harry picked up the letter with great reluctance, tore it open, and let the familiar parchment with the glossy green ink fall into his lap; he sorted past his school requirements list for the year, past a note inscribed by Professor McGonagall, and he examined the O.W.L score card with trepidation mounting still more heavily in his gut.

**Ordinary Wizarding Level Results**

_**Harry James Potter has achieved:**_

_Astronomy— A _

_Care of Magical Creatures— E_

_Charms— E_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts— A_

_Divination— P_

_Herbology— E_

_History of Magic—D_

_Potions— E_

_Transfiguration— E_

Harry stared at the small black 'A' that was his Defense Against the Dark Arts grade, and felt his blood beginning to simmer with anger. He looked up to see Ron, shocked, and Hermione, absolutely livid, exchanging glances.

" Umbridge." Ron said the name like a swearword.

" Loathsome woman, she _can't _do this!" Despite the anger, Hermione looked close to tears.

"What is it, dear?" Mrs. Weasley's proud face had become concerned as she heard the tremble in Hermione's voice.

" _A_." Ron hissed. " Just an _A_. Hermione and I deserve at _least _an _E_, and Harry should get an _O_...he should be teaching the whole sodding class!"

" Ron." Harry interrupted, feeling as though all of his anger had sloughed off onto his friends, leaving him weary and spent. " It's nothing. It's just Umbridge, what do you expect? She wouldn't give us anything more than an _A_, not with us...well, you know..."

_Dumbledore's Army_. Harry thought. _She must have given us low marks for going against the Ministry like that..._

" I'm more surprised that Snape gave me an _E_." Harry admitted, changing the subject as he reviewed his grades. " Better than I could have hoped for, but..."

" But now you can't become an Auror." Hermione concluded kindly; Harry's hesitant confession seemed to have pulled her from her irritated thoughts.

" Oh, Harry." Mrs. Weasley sighed, and she reached out to pat his hand. " Maybe Albus could put in a good word for you, if that's your ambition...Merlin knows we could all do with a boy like you as an Auror..."

Harry imagined training for the position under Mad-Eye Moody, and found the thought immensely more pleasing than the idea of working at Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank in Diagon Alley, or as a bartender in the Three Broomsticks. He shuddered at the notion, setting his grades aside.

" Well, you three missed breakfast." Mrs. Weasley pointed out after several moments of silence. " Shall I bring up a tray?"

" That'd be great, mum, thanks." Ron replied fervently. Mrs. Weasley smiled at him, and then bustled form the room, closing the door behind her.

" So." Ron spoke the moment his mother's footsteps had faded away. " Give 'em here, Harry, let's see what you've got..."

They exchanged grade-sheets, and Harry read through Ron's grades, which were nearly identical to his own; only the Divination grade was different, where Ron had gotten a _D _instead of a _P_. Harry couldn't help feeling a token smug...a feeling he suppressed mightily as he swapped Ron's grade-sheet for Hermione's. He wasn't surprised to see that she had gotten _O _for 'Outstanding' in all of her classes except for the _A_ in Defense Against the Dark Arts and an _E _in Care of Magical Creatures.

When he passed the paper to Ron, Ron gave it a single cursory glance and then outright beamed at Hermione.

" Figures, I knew you'd beat us both out by a mile, you're too smart." He shrugged as he tossed the sheet back to Hermione, who surveyed her grades with an air of intense disappointment that was difficult to overlook. " Oh, _c'mon_!" Ron sad with disbelief, " You're not _upset_, are you, you did miles better than Harry and me...sorry, Harry, it's the truth..."

Harry laughed along with Ron, and Hermione joined in after a moment; they then proceeded to dissect the reason behind each of their grades in great detail, slandering Umbridge whenever possible, and when Mrs. Weasley delivered three steaming bowls of soup, an enormous loaf of warm bread, and nearly a pound of butter, they sprawled on the hard wood floor and as they ate they wove strange tales about how best to take revenge on Umbridge, Draco Malfoy, and all other attendees at the school the previous year who had made their lives much less than easy.

By the time they had consumed their lunch and drifted into drowsy silence, they had gone over several possible strange hexes to use on Draco Malfoy, the best ways to slip a Diarrhea Delicacy (courtesy of Fred and George) into Snape's goblet the first night back, and had contrasted a fail-proof plan for turning Umbridge's bow into a large, flea-ridden bat.

Conversation died as they lay stretched out on the floor, full to the brimming with delicious food, and Harry felt extremely tired, not to mention rather ill again after the large meal that had consumed. He wondered privately if this reoccurring nausea was a result of his strange sleeping patterns—rather, a lack thereof—or if it was something entirely new that was wrong with him.

Most of all, Harry thought about the tension straining like a taxed thread, interconnecting each member of the Order to one another...and as he watched the dust motes filtering across the strong afternoon sunlight slanting through the window, he imagined that precious thread breaking into shards fine as dust, slipping through their fingertips like grains of sand...


	9. Cause for Celebration

_Author's Notes: This chapter was very difficult and also very wonderful for me to write. I had to change things several times...originally we were going to see a bit of Cedric in this chapter...but that will have to wait! ;) For now, enjoy Part One of Harry Potter's Birthday Bash!_

_And, as always, please, review!_

Chapter IX: Cause for Celebration

* * *

On July thirtieth, Harry Potter marked down his fourteenth night without sleep.

He lay sprawled on his back, listening to Ron snoring in the bed opposite him; the light of the waning moon sliced through the darkness of the bedroom and cut across the face of the clock on the bureau beside Harry's bed; ten fifty-eight, and in just one hour and two minutes he would be sixteen.

He didn't feel sixteen; at the moment, as the only one awake, about to celebrate the beginning of his birthday by himself, Harry felt very young and very, very alone.

Less than a full day after the disastrous meeting of the Order, everyone except for the Weasleys, Hermione, and himself had cleared out of Grimmauld Place; the others stopped by frequently, with news or for meals...Lupin seemed to do this in particular...but the house had sunk into a sort of depressing silence that Harry had loathed during his first days here.

The very worst part of it was the shadowed echo of this visit to the one the previous summer; they had waged war against the unkempt Grimmauld Place for days on end, Harry and Hermione and Ron and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Sirius, and Ginny; they had been busy almost always, but laughing as they worked. It had been a wonderful, bright time, even though the following months at school had been some of the worst of Harry's life...

The house was eerily silent now; Fred had relapsed into a state of general semi-consciousness and George all but outright refused to leave his bedside; no other visitors were allowed. Sirius remained locked in his own room, and he and Harry had not spoken nor laid eyes on one another since that moment outside the sitting room a week before. Hermione was constantly occupied with studying the course books Mrs. Weasley had picked up for them in Diagon Alley, with a very firm, " You lot stay here this time, I don't like the looks of the riffraff about and I don't want _any _of you in trouble." She had looked at Harry particularly hard when she said this, making him uncomfortable and defensive.

Ron had grown quiet and rather brooding over the past few days, his thoughts clearly with his missing sister; Harry could not blame him for his sullen silences, as his own thoughts were often angled the same way. As the school year approached he found himself missing Ginny quite desperately, noticing her absence more pronouncedly with each passing day.

He rolled onto his side beneath the blankets and fixed his far-too-tired eyes behind the large spectacles on the clock near his head; one hour to go.

The seconds ticked onward; Harry rolled onto his back and watched the shadows dancing across the ceiling...and he wondered, suddenly, what it would be like to fly on his broom again.

He had not mounted his Firebolt once since the end of last term; it was too dangerous of an undertaking on Privet Drive, and he had been occupied with other matters since arriving at Grimmauld. The thought of flying high into the night sky, the wind in his hair and the moonlight against his face, was exceptionally tempting...he could think of no better way to spend the first few minutes of his birthday, under these circumstances.

Harry climbed quietly from his bed; he pulled on his jeans and a sweatshirt, tugged his beautiful, streamlined Firebolt broom from beneath his bed, and hurried from the room; down the staircase he went, avoiding the third step from the bottom that creaked, and he slipped out the front door, his trainers squeaking on the stoop.

The night was windy; the breeze tugged at his already-unruly black hair, stinging against his face. Harry checked the houses to the right and to the left, then stole around back of Grimmauld Place; he was familiar with the woods encroaching on the back of the house, as he had walked them the year before with Sirius during Christmastime.

_Sirius_. Harry's throat felt tight.

He found it very hard to believe that he had not spoken more then three full sentences to his godfather in a month's time; the space between them yawned wider, an abyss whose weight Harry felt bearing down on his heart, particularly today...tonight, with his birthday a mere hour away.

Harry walked for many minutes, passing beyond the reaches of the city, before emerging from the far edge of the wood; here the ground sloped gently away into a rushing, flowing river, with open farmland on the other side.

Harry gazed around for a bit, making certain that he was alone; satisfied, after a moment, in his solitude, though still wishing for his father's cloak to shield him from any and all prying eyes, Harry mounted his broom and kicked off just as a distant bell chimed midnight; he was sixteen years old.

" Happy birthday to me." Harry sang the words under his breath as he rocketed straight upward, his stomach clenching with exhilaration at the forgotten sensation; it had been too long since he had flown, far too long.

It was very hard—as he made lazy loops over the river—to not think about all of the things that were wrong in his life. He was constantly and completely exhausted, near to the point of collapse, and the nausea still made unfortunate reappearances at random times...his best mate's brother was dying, his sister kidnapped, and Harry's godfather seemed to loathe the very sight of him...something Harry could not blame him for, considering the direction their last real conversation had taken.

His thoughts digressing, Harry shook himself mentally and sighed.

_I've got to stop thinking about this stuff. It's going to kill me. _He winced at the notion, then rose higher, hovering before the moon, watching as the pale light dyed the backs of his hands—gripping the handle of his broomstick—an unearthly alabaster shade.

And so he decided; he would fly until his worries were behind him, until none of it mattered anymore, until he forgot everything that was troubling him.

And for a very long time he did just that...sweeping about, he spun in crazy loops and circles, riding the current of the wind, dropping beneath it, practicing the Wronski Feint and his best Seeker moves, until he was laughing to himself and not thinking about Sirius or Ginny or Fred at all. He relived the greatest moments of his Quidditch days—swallowing the Snitch, breaking his arm during a spectacular save, beating Malfoy out time and again—and found himself longing for Hogwarts more than ever.

The night had waxed thin and the horizon was a strange shade of green when Harry at last surfaced from his stupor of joy, realizing that if he was to avoid being caught out of bed at such an unholy hour, he would have to run all the way back to Grimmauld. With this in mind, and still being utterly reluctant to depart, Harry landed, his numb body tingling still with the feeling of the wind shredding through his sweatshirt, and he stumbled a bit as he raced to the treeline and tore through the forest, running with his free arm raised to break off the twigs that lashed toward his face.

He was panting open-mouthed when he reached the back of Grimmauld-Place over a half-hour later, greeted by the soft chuffing sounds of cars being revved by their owners all up and down the lane; Harry circled around the front of Grimmauld Place, then paused, perplexed, glancing between numbers thirteen and eleven.

Realization dawned on him, after a moment, and he swore loudly.

He hadn't stopped to consider the code of secrecy binding the house; he would not be able to see it unless given permission by the Secret Keeper, who was currently many hundreds of miles away, by Harry's best guess...

" Shit." Harry muttered, pacing up and down on the sidewalk, feeling anxious. What would the residents of Grimmauld think if they saw a bespectacled, skinny boy toting a broomstick, pacing in front of numbers thirteen and eleven, Grimmauld, like some sort of madman?

With no alternative left, Harry seated himself on the curb, held his Firebolt between his knees, and rubbed his hands against his arms, warming himself by friction as the unseasonable cold of the late-July morning crawled beneath his skin.

Harry felt a fool now for his venture; he hadn't thought out the consequences, hadn't wondered about how he would get back inside Grimmauld; he had only known that he needed an escape, and desperately. What other choice had there been? To lay in his bed for hours waiting for sunrise seemed unthinkable even now. At least, he consoled himself, he had enjoyed the first few hours of what was shaping up to be a downright miserable birthday.

Somewhere down the lane, a car backfired quite suddenly; a dog howled. Harry heard a twig snap, and he leaped to his feet, spinning about just as a figure stepped around a tree opposite his position on the curb.

Harry and Lupin stared at one another for a long, long minute; then Lupin was across the street and his arms were around Harry, pulling him into a tight embrace.

" Happy birthday, Harry!" Lupin's words were hushed so as not to attract attention, but his voice was warm.

" Er...thanks." Harry replied as his former professor set him back at arm's length, studying him. " What are you doing here, though?"

" I'm on duty for the Order, delivering a very special gift to someone here." Lupin's eyebrows lifted as Harry stared at him, uncomprehending. When several seconds of silence elapsed, Lupin blew out an exasperated sigh. " Oh, here, take it!" He reached into one of the inner pockets of his shabby overcoat and withdrew a small parcel, which he placed into Harry's limp left hand.

" Er, thanks, but...Professor Lupin..."

" Harry, I haven't been your Professor for three very long years. I'd appreciate it immensely if you'd call me Remus, like everyone else does." Lupin's voice was still light; Harry had never seen him in such high spirits before. He couldn't help but grin in response.

" Remus, then." He shook his head and tried to hand the parcel back. " Look, I appreciate this...really, I do...but you don't have to spend any money on me..."

" It was already bought long before today, Harry." Lupin pointed out. " Besides, I haven't had a chance to give you anything in the way of birthday presents since you were a baby. I owe this to you...and to James and Lily, I think."

Harry stared down at the tiny package, the lump welling in his throat again.

" Go on, open it!" Lupin coaxed.

Harry inhaled deeply, and in one swift movement, he tore the ratty brown paper off of the gift.

Whatever the thing was that now rested in Harry's palm, it was...wonderful. He could think of no other word to describe it. It had a very ancient look and feel about it...it was a spun-glass orb, dyed a very iridescent red, and it was only the size of a small snow-globe. Cupping it in his hands, Harry exerted pressure with his fingertips, and felt a faint flutter against his palms, as though something inside the orb had moved.

" What...what is it?" He demanded, his voice shaking.

" A dark aura detector." Lupin supplied proudly. " The last of it's kind, as far as I know. Voldemort had them all destroyed the last time he came into power. This one belonged to your mother...the night your parents died, when Dumbledore told me, I went to the house at once to see for myself...and I found this. It's quite valuable, you know."

" What does it do?" Harry asked, rather foolishly.

" It detects any darkness in an object...not in a person, it can't read a heart that changes so quickly...but if an inanimate _thing _near the orb is bewitched by a dark sort of magic, it will change from red to any number of other colors...blue for the lesser of dark magics, black for the most potent. For example, if you walked into Knockturn Alley, I imagine this orb would be changing colors so fast you wouldn't be able to properly see it. I thought you might find it useful." Lupin seemed very satisfied.

" Remus, I...thanks." Harry murmured. He pocketed the gift and bent to retrieve his Firebolt. Seeming to catch sight of the broom for the first time, Lupin frowned.

" Harry, what are you doing out here this early?" He demanded slowly, the realization only just dawning on him that Harry was outside on a very chilly late summer morning with a broom, looking very wind-swept and red-cheeked.

" Flying." Harry replied unabashedly.

Lupin's eyes swung up to search his, and Harry looked away a moment too late; he knew the haggard exhaustion in his face had given away his sleeplessness.

But Lupin did not comment; he merely pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket and said, " Very well." Then he stepped past Harry and into the center of the street; Harry took a moment to recompose himself, and to wonder why, after five years, he was still not used to people acknowledging or caring that it was his birthday.

" Harry!"

He turned; Lupin was standing on the stoop of the just-reappeared Grimmauld Place, clutching the scrap of parchment with the address penned on it in his hand; he was holding the door open, and Ron was leaning out into the breezy morning, his face brighter than it had been in days. Cheered by the sight of his best mate's grinning face, Harry darted across the street, took the steps to the stoop two at a time, and met Ron in an embrace.

" Happy birthday, mate!" Ron said, his voice full of glee. " C'mon, presents, mum's already making breakfast..."

" Here, Harry, let me take this." Lupin offered, tugging the Firebolt from his hands. " I'll put it in your room when it's more...convenient."

Harry felt a wash of gratitude as he realized that Lupin was covering for his earlier escape. He nodded to his former professor, then turned away as Ron gave his sleeve an impatient tug.

" See you!" Harry called over his shoulder to Lupin as he followed Ron down the hall, up the stairs, and into their room.

Hermione was sitting on the edge of Ron's bed, looking very sleepy but very happy indeed, and the moment Harry entered the room she bounded to her feet and raced forward in a flurry of bushy brown hair to hug him.

" Happy sixteenth birthday, Harry, you know, I've read up on the life of wizards in America and did you know they come of age when they're sixteen? But that's beside the point...oh, this is your first birthday with _all _of us, and it'll be ever so much fun, Ronald said you'd gone for a walk, but now you're back we should start on the festivities!" She said this all very quickly.

" Let him breathe, Hermione." Ron chuckled, pushing past her to throw himself down on his bed. " She's right though, Harry, you'd better get a move on..."

Harry, grateful that Ron had covered for his absence...Ron, who must have noticed that Harry's Firebolt had been missing from beneath the bed...disentangled himself from Hermione's embrace and moved to his bed, which had, even at this early hour, been piled high with presents.

" Seven owls, Harry, can you believe it?" Hermione sounded very happy for him. " They woke me up, they must have had the wrong room..."

Harry, awestruck, lowered himself onto his bed, then took a moment to remove the Dark Aura Detector form his pocket and place it on his bureau. Ron and Hermione both eyed it keenly.

" Where'd you get _that_?" Ron asked, but his voice was overlapped by Hermione's gasp, " Oh my _goodness, _is that a...Harry, is that a_ Dark Aurora Detector?"_

" Yeah." Harry nodded. " Professor Lup—er, _Remus_ gave it to me. He said it's the last one out there...that it belonged to my mum..."

It occurred to Harry quite suddenly, then, that he owned something very valuable from both of his parents, and a blazing sort of happiness ignited inside of him. Turning away from the Detector, he took the first present from the pile, and opened the card attached to it.

_Harry,_

_Hi, I really hope you're having a good summer. Gran's keeping me hostage here in American, but it's great stuff, I've learned a lot from the wizards here. There are even some vampires, but they're not anything like the ones Professor Quirrell met in the Black Forest...d'you think he was even telling the truth about all that? Anyway, Hermione would love it over here, like I said, I'm learning loads. But I miss you all. We're getting back sometime next month, and then I guess I'll see you on the Hogwarts express._

_Also, I found something pretty interesting here in America—they have their very own version of Diagon Alley!—that I thought you'd like for your birthday. Hope it's happy!_

_Neville. _

Harry grinned as he read the card, then set it off to the side and tore the packaging from the present; inside he found a very interesting necklace made of leather soft as satin; a single golden-red phoenix feather and what looked strangely like a dragon claw hung from the tassel on the end.

" Blimey!" Ron exclaimed. " That's a feather-fang charm! Charlie's told me about 'em, they're supposed to be really rare...can I have a look, Harry?"

" Sure." Harry handed him the necklace, then turned to the next gift.

This one appeared to be from Luna, as it was a book entitled _Nargles, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and Humdingers...Beasts of the Unknown! _Harry's suspicions proved correct as he found the letter from Luna penned into the front cover of the royal-blue volume, in a swooping scrawl that was difficult to read,

_Dear Harry,_

_I didn't realize it was your birthday until just yesterday, daddy says he read the date in the _Daily Prophet_. How strange. Anyway, I found this book very helpful in curing my unbelief in the more hidden wonders of the magical word, I hope you find it useful as well. You are one of my very dear friends and I can't wait to see you again on September first. Enjoy your birthday._

_Luna Lovegood_

Harry took one look at Hermione's disapproving, tight-lipped expression, directed at the book in his hands, and decided against reading it just now. He set it aside instead, and turned back to the pile of presents.

He unearthed from the stack a whole sampling box of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George, which annoyed Ron to no end—"Hey, they didn't let _me_ sample and I'm their _brother_!"—a package of treacle fudge and a long letter from Hagrid relaying his progress with Grawp, the riled state of the centaurs, and the changes taking place at Hogwarts...Harry shelved this excessively long letter for later...a box of mince pies and a new owl cage for Hedwig from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley...and Harry paused on the present beneath theirs; badly wrapped and misshapen, with Harry's name scrawled across it in familiar, untidy handwriting, it was obviously from Ron.

Harry paused on the verge of tearing the browned and weatherworn paper off, glancing at Ron, whose ears had flushed brilliantly red.

" Look, I couldn't afford anything, alright?" He muttered, thoroughly embarrassed. " Mum found this in with some stuff at the Burrow that Hagrid sent us, said I should give it to you..."

Harry was already unwrapping his present, and after a moment he stripped the clumsily-wrapped paper away from the present and, for the second time that morning, he felt his eyes growing stinging hot with the force of his emotions.

The frame was only rudimentary, but the picture was priceless; Ron, Harry, and Hermione in their second year. Of course, he remembered...at the end of that term, Colin Creevey had taken this picture, bursting with excitement at being able to photograph his hero yet again...

Harry's heart ached at the thought of Colin and is brother Dennis, both dead at the hands of the Death Eaters.

" Thanks, Ron." He murmured.

" Didn't have time to write anything." Ron admitted. " I just want you to know...you've been my best mate as long as I've known you, and...nothing's gonna change that. I'm here for you."

Too moved to speak, Harry nodded, cleared his throat gruffly, and went back to the presents.

He thanked Hermione fervently for the extremely advanced book of spells she had bought for him, which he unwrapped next...he knew it would come in excellent handy if he continued teaching lessons to Dumbledore's Army. He sorted through gifts from Tonks and several members of the D.A., new friends he had made over the previous term.

And at last Harry found himself staring down at the last gift, never wrapped, and the two cards perched atop it.

He knocked the letters aside with a brush of his hand, lifted the invisibility cloak, and ran his hands over it and under it, undulating it with his touch, his heart pounding fit to burst with joy as he inhaled that strange, misty scent of it.

" Harry." Hermione, sitting beside him, had picked up the larger of the two cards, and now passed it wordlessly to him. Harry's eyes roved over that strangely familiar, elegant feminine script, and then he tore the envelope open with feverish movements and scanned its contents quickly.

_My dearest, most precious Harry._

_If you are reading this letter now, it means that you are sixteen years old...you are very nearly a man, and I am certain that you are a good one. _

_And if you are reading this letter at all, it also means that I did not survive long enough to see you to this important day._

_As I write this letter, you are nine months old. I'm sitting beside your crib, watching you sleep...Harry, you look such an angel, you have your father's hair already and my eyes...I feel so privileged. And as I'm watching you, unblemished, perfect and pure, I pray that no evil, no harm will ever befall you. That even though I am not there to hold you, that there will be arms to support you when you are weary. I pray that you can find the love of another mother, who will treasure you just as I have._

_I pray that you are happy, my precious Harry, here on your sixteenth birthday. You will be of age next year...and the same age I was when I finally began to date your father. I truly hope that you have someone in your life who is to you what James is...and was...to me. I hope that there is someone who is annoyingly persistent, who perseveres and strives after your love even when you withhold it._

_I hope that you have friends; friends that are dear and sacred to you, friends like your father had, like the one true friend I had for much of my childhood. I hope that they respect you, hold you when you are scared, comfort you when your world collapses. I hope that they mean everything to you._

_I hope that you still have with you your courage, your faith in the Light, your revulsion of the Darkness, and all of the love and joy a boy who has seen sixteen years can possess. I hope you laugh often, choose an embrace over a handshake, admit to your wrongdoings, stand for what you believe in, walk rather than run, dance when you can, cry when you must, look to the stars when you are lost, and always, always love. That is the greatest power of them all._

_I will give this letter to Sirius; God willing if I do not survive, he will. That would give me some peace of mind. I'll tell him to give you this on your sixteenth birthday, and I hope it is a comfort to you, wherever and _who_ever you are._

_You are my world, little Harry, my son, my life. I love you more than myself, so much more than my own life. Never forget that. My life lives on in you._

_Your mother,_

_Lily._

Despite his best efforts, the moisture in Harry's eyes brimmed over. He felt as though a warm hand was reaching through him, curling around his heart, bringing him pain and contentment at the same time. He heard the echo of his mother's formless words in his mind; on concluding the letter, he wiped his damp face with his sleeve, then set the parchment aside, ignoring Hermione's anxious glance and Ron's uncertain expression, and leaned forward to pick up the second card.

It was a simple affair, snowy-white with words penned on its face in a familiar hand:

_A promise is a promise._

_Someday we'll be a family._

_Keep this, just in case._

Harry's heart ceased to beat for a moment, and then kicked up in double-time. He clutched the card firmly in his hand, staring down at the invisibility cloak spread across his lap, hardly daring to believe that things could ever be set right...

" Harry?" Hermione spoke, tentatively.

" A promise is a promise." Harry whispered. He glanced up at his friends, who looked utterly mystified, and suddenly, all of it—the guilt, the fear, the frustration, the joy—spilled over in the form of very rushed words, " Look, I've made a real mess of things this summer, I couldn't protect Ginny or Fred and I said some pretty awful things to Sirius and I've been feeling sorry for myself ever since term ended, but..." _Admit to your wrongdoings, _" It can't go on like this anymore. Voldemort's gotten inside my head, but I have to keep him out from now on. I'll find Ginny. I'll make things right with Sirius. I _know _I can."

" That's the spirit, mate." Ron nodded, sounding satisfied.

" Oh, _Harry!_" Hermione flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly for the second time.

" Ow..._ouch_, Hermione, get off!" Harry fended her back gently, and Hermione broke away with a slightly hysterical laugh; her eyes were moist.

" Ronald is _absolutely _right, Harry, that _is _the spirit, and I _know _you can do this if you set your mind to it!" She stated.

" Alright then, let's go!" Feeling revived by his epiphany, Harry leaped from the bed, shook himself all over, and then darted out the door and down the stairs, to the kitchen basement.

He was greeted by a chorused yell of 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!' and the intoxicating smell of a delicious breakfast; he stared at the dining-table, magically doubled in size and heaped with platters of griddle-cakes, French-style toast, scrambled and fried eggs, bacon, sausage, two pitchers of pumpkin juice, browned-hash, and every other breakfast delicacy Harry could imagine. His mouth watered at the mere sight of it.

And there, standing before him and beside him, was his family; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, George, Lupin, and, to Harry's shock and delight, Sirius, who was leaning against the back of a nearby chair, seated in which, slumped over as though he did not possess the strength to remain upright, was Fred.

" Fred!" Harry spoke his name above the clapping of the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione, and Lupin, who all fell silent at once.

Fred's head swung very slowly in Harry's direction; for a moment his bloodshot eyes did not register any emotion. Then he blinked, and raised one hand in a sort of off-kilter salute.

" Happy birthday to the Chosen One, and many h-hairy returns." He cracked a listless smile at his own humor. " Get it..._hairy_? Harry, hairy..."

George forced a smile for his twin's benefit, then went to sit beside him, to support Fred's unstable shoulder with his own.

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands and gestured for them to all be seated.

" Let's dig in!" She commanded with relish. Harry flung himself down in his chair and began to load his plate with everything in sight; he tried to busy himself, tried not to notice Ginny's empty chair across the table and two seats down from him. It was the darkest stain on the happy event, coupled with Fred's pitiful attempt at humor and Sirius's stony silence.

For Harry's benefit, it seemed, Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley kept up a steady stream of conversation; Harry was made aware by them that the members of the Order that were able would convene that night to continue the celebration. Harry thought this party seemed better suited to a coming-of-age event, but he didn't say so. For the first time in his life, his birthday truly _was _a party...and it was a thousand times better than anything Dudley had experienced for a similar occasion, Harry was certain of that.

He began to notice, however, as they ate, that Lupin and Sirius both acted as though the chair where the other sat was empty; their eyes passed over the single seat blankly, taking in all else with keen alertness. The sight of the obvious rift between them renewed that feeling of brokenness within Harry, so that he began to wonder if all he had hoped for was impossible...

_No_. Harry halted the thought before it could fully come to fruition, leaning back in his chair and surveying the table quickly. _I can do this. I _can_. A promise is a promise. We'll all be a proper family...Mrs. Weasley, the mother who loves me as much as my mum did...Ron, Fred, and George, who might as well be my brothers...Hermione, she's like my sister...Sirius, who's the closest thing I've got to a dad..._

But there was an enormous fissure, a fault that split through the center of their family, and that vast tear was his own making. He had betrayed them all with his selfishness, with his brooding for weeks without writing, with his sharp words and ready temper...with his lack of strength to resist the will of Voldemort, whose emotions and thoughts and feelings were being constantly siphoned off onto him...

" Harry!" Ron nudged him, and passed a plate of simmering bacon into his hands. " 'Ave some of these, Harry, they're _great!_"

Harry pushed his brooding thoughts into the back of his mind and allowed himself to be swept up in the joviality of the moment; he ate and drank himself to complete fullness, then joined in as Hermione teased Ron on his apparently bottomless appetite; George was unusually quiet as he helped Fred eat, and Harry felt as though the compassion emanating from one brother to the other was a palpable thing.

When the last of the food had been cleared form the platters and everyone—even Fred—had eaten their fill, the conversation lapsed into a drowsy murmur. Crookshanks padded in, leaped into Sirius's lap, and rubbed against his bony hand until, unwillingly, it seemed, Sirius obliged to stroke his ginger fur. Lupin and Hermione were discussing the books that were required for their up-and-coming term, and Harry and Ron were revisiting their memories of past escapades at Hogwarts, when Mrs. Weasley gasped rather suddenly, capturing the attention of everyone seated at the table.

" Oh, dear me, I'd nearly forgotten!" She reached into the large pocket on the breast of her nightgown as she spoke, and withdrew a very small, circular parcel from within. Harry knew what this must be—another gift—and he was about to refuse when Mrs. Weasley pushed it across the table and murmured, " I found this in Ginny's room the night we left the Burrow. It was addressed to you."

Harry thought, if he was witch, he would catatonic with tears of wonder by now; he unwrapped his last present and turned it over in his hands.

It was an armlet, a bit too feminine for his taste, but he knew Ginny had meant well by it. There was a round locket dangling from the gold-and-red cords—the complimentary colors of Gryffindor house, Harry noted—that was in the shape of a Snitch, reminding him once again of flying. He gently prized the two halves of the locket apart.

A sweet, sultry melody exited the locket, filling the whole of the kitchen with its chords. Harry stared down at the blank inside of the small Snitch, and a sense of sleepy peace washed over him.

" That sounds like veela song." Hermione whispered.

" It's some new artist Ginny got into in her third year." Ron explained. " Not bad, I guess, but it makes me downright tired..."

Harry had to agree; when he closed the locket, everyone started as though awakened from slumber.

" I...it's...it's nice." Harry muttered, sliding the bracelet on. Again, too feminine, but he felt a warm glow spread up his arm as he tugged the circlet into place. He was thankful that no one...not even the twins...took the mickey out of him for how strange it must look, a wizard wearing a charm bracelet.

And then, as they all sat in there in silence, Harry felt as though the warmth of the bracelet was spreading, pooling deep inside of him, making him feel very brave indeed, as though he could go and face Voldemort without even a wand to his name, and defeat the Dark Lord with the slightest effort.

Deciding, after a moment, that this would be an unwise course of action, Harry chose to tackle the next hardest trial.

He got to his feet.

" Hey, Sirius, can I have a word? Right now?"

Those fathomless grey eyes lifted to his.

" Er...alone?" Harry pressed.

Sirius blinked, glanced down at Crookshanks, then nudged the ginger cat from his lap and got to his feet. As he circled around the table, Lupin reached out and touched his arm; there was warning in the gesture.

" Padfoot." He cautioned, and it made Harry's chest ache to hear the familiarity of the nickname when Sirius was staring at Lupin so coldly.

" Get out of it, Remus." Sirius muttered under his breath as he shook Lupin's hand off. The warm light in Harry's chest flickered, giving ground to the anxiety that he had known all along this moment would bring. Grimacing at Ron and Hermione—who both nodded back, showing their encouragement—Harry mounted the stairs with Sirius close behind.

They paused in the foyer, and Harry took a deep breath, turning slowly to face his godfather.

" Sirius, I..."

Sirius held up a hand.

" Just a minute."

He turned, and vanished into the sitting room.

Harry paced impatiently the length of the corridor and back, and when he had returned to the basement entrance, a great, shaggy black dog was there to greet him, sitting ramrod straight, jaw clenched and eyes steady.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck nervously, then began to pace again, a tighter, more constrained area, back and forth between the stairs and the wall.

" Well..." He began, but it didn't feel like the right way to begin this very heavy conversation, and so he dropped his arm to his side and went on, " Look. I know I've been a right prat lately, just like my dad was when he was my age. But the truth is, I'm scared. Really, really scared. I haven't slept in two weeks and I can't stop thinking about stuff...you and Fred and Ginny, mostly. I wrote to Dumbledore to tell him...my scar's been hurting like mad again...but he hasn't written back yet. And I'm not sure why, but I feel like...like something is coming. Like it's all going to change really soon."

Sirius continued to regard him without a flicker of emotion. Harry felt very frustrated by this.

" And...okay, I shouldn't've said what I said to you on the train, that's not...it's not your fault you were in Azkaban, definitely not. And you _do _know me...probably even better than I know myself sometimes...and...I dunno..." Harry glanced down, pushing the bracelet around his wrist, wondering if that warmth would return; it had been doused by nerves. " I just know that...something Dumbledore said to me, before Ginny and I used the Time-Turner..." He took another deep, steadying breath as a sudden thought occurred to him. " He said that...that Voldemort knew...that you were the only person I would go to _any _lengths to save...so, if _you_ know that, and if you think that puts _you _in danger...y'know, from Voldemort...and that's why you've been avoiding me like I've got the plague..." He forced a very painful smile. " Believe me, I don't blame you."

Sirius lifted one very large paw in a gesture for quiet. Harry fell silent, watching as his godfather's head turned, canting aside in a very human gesture of thinking. Then, after a moment, Sirius nodded, and Harry went on, his words coming very quickly now.

" Professor Dumbledore also told me that I was...the person you cared about the most in this world." Harry struggled with enormity of this knowledge. " And...that's kind of what I need right now. Someone who cares about me that much. It...helps. More than you can imagine. Oh," He added as an afterthought, " And...I don't hate you. I mean, I went back in time to save you...that has to count for something. I wasn't even mad at you on the train, I was just...really effing frustrated with life. And scared. Like I am now."

The warmth began to radiated up his arm again from that strange, feminine bracelet; drawing courage from that peaceful feeling, Harry watched as Sirius canted his head again, clearly deep in thought.

Silence reigned.

" So, er...that's it." Harry concluded at last, awkwardly.

Sirius nodded.

" I just thought you should know."

Another brisk nod.

" And...I guess I'll...just go back to the kitchen."

He walked past Sirius, who did nothing whatsoever to stop him. Harry was only dimly aware, as he descended to the basement, of the sound of the front door of Grimmauld Place being opened by an enormous clawed paw, then closing again.

Six pairs of eyes darted toward him as Harry returned to the warm kitchen; he settled back in his chair, stared at the ceiling, and asked, of no one in particular, " When's everyone else getting here?"

" Tonks and Aletris should be arriving shortly after noon." Mrs. Weasley replied promptly, " Hagrid couldn't get away again, but he of course sends his regards. Bill and Charlie might be here as well, and...you'll be seeing a very special guest, I think."

Harry glanced at her, curious, but Mrs. Weasley merely smiled and began to clear the plates and cutlery from the table.

Harry twisted his left arm about, watching the low light of the room reflecting from the Snitch-shaped locket, and he wondered how it must feel to be Sirius, walking the chilly streets alone.

Pushing the thought from his mind, Harry got to his feet and began to clear the table, and for a long while thereafter he was too occupied to think very much at all.


	10. The Phoenix Returns

_Author's Notes: And here you have it, the second part of Harry's Birthday Bash! This is a chapter I've been working toward for some time as well and I am quite pleased with how it turned out. I'm sorry if this story seems to be taking a while to come into it, but there is a hint in this chapter as to the climax of the plot, which entails, of course, something to do with Horcruxes. ;) _

_Also, be advised that a pairing will surface here that I did NOT intend to write, but that kind of sprang up after several videos on youtube and much too many views of Goblet of Fire's Yule Ball arc (in which, if you look hard enough, you can see this couple dancing frequently in the background 3)_

_And here I stop blathering and leave you to it! Enjoy_

_...Though I am very fond of the birthday toast..._

Chapter X: The Phoenix Returns

* * *

" Alright, there's been a slight change of plans!"

Harry suppressed a groan as he glanced up from his book, toward Mrs. Weasley, who was standing in the sitting room doorway, looking rather excited. Excitement seemed an odd contrast to the sleepy air of the sitting room, where Ron was wedged against the arm of the musty crushed-velvet couch, having a look at the book from Luna, Hermione was playing with Crookshanks while sitting cross-legged in one of the stuffed armchairs, and Harry, lying on his stomach beside the disused fireplace at the far end of the room, was taking a cursory view of his new advanced spell book; they had been sealed away in solitude for the past few hours as the day wheeled away beyond the windows. Despite the lazy feel of the past few hours, Harry did not find that he resented such idleness on his birthday; in fact, he rather enjoyed it, the calm of the moment mingling with the anticipation of his party that night.

Now, however, Mrs. Weasley came to sit on the couch beside Ron, and she looked very smug indeed. Harry was forcefully reminded of the time when Crookshanks had caught Pigwidgeon and had paraded around with the feathery fowl clutched in his jaws, smirking in a rather haughty fashion until Hermione freed Ron's poor pet, with a vehement apology.

" Change?" Ron glanced up, looking slightly bemused; Harry wondered how informative the book in his hands was, or if it was simply lulling him to sleep. " What kind of change, mum?"

" Well, due to some rather last minute...alterations in various schedules..." Mrs. Weasley seemed to be choosing her words very carefully. " The attendance list for the celebration tonight has...grown a bit. We won't have room in the kitchen here, so we'll be Apparating back to the Burrow and spending the rest of the evening there."

A surge of relief washed over Harry at the thought of escaping dusty, dismal Grimmauld Place for a few hours. Hauling himself upright, he pushed his glasses back up his nose and met Ron's eager eyes with a wide smile of his own.

" That's great, Mrs. Weasley, it sounds like..."

" When are we leaving, mum? Right now?" Ron interrupted.

" Soon, dear, your father will be here in a few minutes, he's going to take Fred along, and then the rest of us can follow...I'm not sure it's wise, moving him around all this frequently, but we can't simply leave him here..." Mrs. Weasley looked suddenly anxious, and Ron reached over to pat her shoulder rather awkwardly.

" He'll be fine, Mum, Fred's a fighter."

" Yes, of course, Ron, I know you're absolutely right..." Mrs. Weasley murmured. She shook her head as though to clear it of some lingering thought, and then she got to her feet and smiled down at Harry. " I think you'll be happy to know, dear, that I've managed to talk Sirius into coming."

" Really?" Harry felt some of the anxiety lift from his chest; he picked up his spell book, slammed it shut, and stretched some of the ache from his muscles. Mrs. Weasley looked on, faintly amused, and as Harry relaxed again she went on.

" As a matter of fact, he's helping us with Side-Along. We'll need you three in the foyer in ten minutes. Promptly!" She added the last word with a severe tone, then beamed at them all and departed.

The moment she was gone, Ron let out a whooping yell.

" Yes! Finally, we can get out of here!"

Hermione, however, looked faintly disturbed; she was no longer playing with Crookshanks, who took one look at the limp golden ribbon in her hand and proceeded to sulk from the room, looking thoroughly put-out.

" What is it, Hermione?" Harry sighed, recognizing that thoughtful look in her eyes, the calculating, straightforward stare.

" It's...very odd." She murmured. " That they're all changing plans so suddenly."

" Why?" Ron demanded, mystified. " Everyone loves Harry, no bloke in their right mind's gonna miss this party." Harry wondered if he'd just imagined the bitterness in Ron's voice.

" Yes, Ronald, of course they love Harry, that's all very well and good, but..." Hermione paused, then continued in a rush, " But is a wizard..._any wizard's_...sixteenth birthday a large enough occasion for members of the Order to leap from duty to attend?"

Ron seemed to be mulling this over; Harry felt as though the balloon of happiness in his chest had been punctured.

" What are you saying?" He asked.

" I think there's something else there." Hermione replied firmly, confidently, as though she had already given thought to her answer. " Something...something's going to _happen_. Or maybe everyone _thinks _it will. So they're messing things about, giving us better advantage...moving us away from Muggles, where we'd be restricted by the Statutes of Secrecy, if it came to dueling...moving us to a place that has more room to run, if the need calls for it...bringing more witches and wizards in, tightening the security..."

" Blimey." Ron seemed to be catching on to her way of thinking. " Blimey, Hermione, you don't think..."

" Voldemort." Hermione interrupted, ignoring Ron's wince. " It fits perfectly, Harry, don't you see? Everyone might expect him to go after you when you come of age, right? He'd expect this to be a far more..._subtle _occasion, far less attended. It might be the best opportunity for him to...to attack you. When you're not under Dumbledore's protection. "

Harry's mind was racing very fast; he held up a hand to stall Hermione's explanation as a thought occurred to him.

" Only one problem, Hermione," He said, though, in truth, there were several of them. " Voldemort could've done me in at the Dursleys last week, but he didn't. It was only you, me, Fred, and George. And you remember what he said? He said he was going to show me what I'd have to do to get Ginny back. He's not going to say that and then just _kill _me."

" Harry." It was Ron who spoke, his voice very low. " I've heard my dad say...You-Know-Who never said what he could show. What if it isn't you he's after, what if he's going to kill someone else...maybe to show you that _you _have to die."

" That's sick. Backwards." Harry said at once, revolted by the thought.

" That's You-Know-Who, mate." Ron shrugged. " It never makes sense with him. He'd just use it as an excuse to kill someone."

" Unless..." Hermione began, and then she paused, looking disgusted by what ever thought had come to her mind; Harry and Ron both turned to look at her.

" _What, _Hermione?" Harry demanded when she bit her lip and frowned.

" What if...he's planning to weaken the security...by force?" She glanced from Ron's uncomprehending face, to Harry's, and then swallowed audibly. " What if he's going to kill_ all_ of us, and leave just Harry alive?"

" That's stupid, why would he...?" Harry began.

" I don't know, I don't _know!_" Hermione wailed, looking stricken. " Who _can _know? All I _do _know is that things are very odd around here, and the Order is supposed to be very busy, only suddenly they're not, and everyone is much too excited about Harry's birthday..."

" Thanks a lot, Hermione." Harry muttered.

" Oh, you _know _I didn't mean it like that, Harry, _do _stop with the sensitivity." Hermione snapped impatiently. " I'm only saying that It's very strange and we shouldn't...we shouldn't..."

But she seemed at a loss for what they shouldn't do.

" Well, I know what we _should _do." Harry said, getting to his feet and shaking the dust from his body. " We should get to the foyer, or Mrs. Weasley'll have our heads."

Hermione, looking faintly perturbed, stood up, and Ron leaped off the couch to fall in behind her as she departed the room quite hastily; Harry cast a single glance around the airy, sunlit chamber, and then followed them.

Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, George and Sirius were milling about in the foyer, looking alert and anxious to leave; Harry felt a pang of uncertainty as he caught sight of their restless faces. He wondered if they were simply eager to be away from Grimmauld, or if their tense expressions were due to something else, some hidden knowledge...

" Harry, dear, come with me." Mrs. Weasley ordered the moment Harry joined her. She seized him by his elbow and towed him down the hall, to the door; they then proceeded into daylight, which was rapidly dwindling toward the twilit hours. Mrs. Weasley paused on the street, glancing up and down the lane furtively.

" Alright." She spoke in a stage whisper to Sirius, George, and Lupin. " We'll go all together, I think, it would be less suspicious...oh, I _do _wish we hadn't left all of the Floo powder at home..."

" It's fine, mum." Ron told her firmly, though he looked very pale.

" Of course, dear..." Mrs. Weasley breathed deeply, then forced a smile. " Right. George, you'll be the only one not doing Side-Along. Remus, you have Ronald...Sirius, Hermione."

Hermione looked thoroughly and perhaps unwarrantedly anxious as she gripped Sirius's wrist and closed her eyes.

Harry caught a glimpse of Ron, lips pressed together in a stony white line, just as Mrs. Weasley revolved on the spot; there was an enormous, deafening _crack! _as five wizards and two witches exploded away from their standing point and into empty air. Harry felt a horrible squeezing sensation down his body, and he closed his eyes very tightly, counting backwards very fast until his feet hit wet soil and he pitched forward, losing his balance and toppling onto the ground.

_Thud, thud, thud_. The hollow sounds of bodies landing beside him brought Harry bolting upright. He felt around for his glasses, which had fallen as he did, jammed them forcefully back onto his face, and stared around at the brightly-lit, sloping lawn of the Burrow; it felt like he had just left yesterday.

Not since his last day at Hogwarts had Harry seen so many people all together at once; they were all milling about as though waiting for something. There was a lack of Order members that he found surprising, but a good deal many of his friends from school were there, including, he noted, Katie Bell, one of the Chasers on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and several other members of Dumbledore's Army.

And suddenly, their petrified conversation in the sitting room seemed downright foolish.

" Blimey, Hermione, it wasn't the Order who switched everything around for this, it was..." _Everyone else. _Harry concluded silently_,_

A horrible realization dawned on him at the sight of his close friends loitering about nearby, an idea, half-formed, battering against his mind.

" Er..." Harry mumbled, looking round at Mrs. Weasley, who was brushing dust from her simple robes as she smiled at him; the smile was wide, her eyes warm...Harry didn't trust them.

" You lot...go on ahead." Harry instructed, holding Mrs. Weasley's gaze without blinking. He suddenly wished he hadn't left his armlet at home; he craved the warm courage of it now.

Ron and George looked between their mother and Harry, silently questioning, but Hermione, Lupin and Sirius departed without a word, going their separate ways—Lupin and Hermione blending into the crowd, Sirius taking a roundabout and vanishing around the edge of the house.

After a moment, the others followed.

The moment they were gone, Mrs. Weasley's wide, welcoming smile slipped. She heaved a heavy sigh.

" Ask, dear."

" You're throwing me this huge party because you don't think I'll be here next year, don't you?" Harry blurted that half-formed thought, then stood silent, holding his breath for her reaction.

" I had thought it possible, yes." Mrs. Weasley admitted after a long pause, tugging at a loose thread on her robe sleeve.

" Why?" Harry heard the anguish in his own voice, felt the betrayal burning strongly inside of him; did they all think he would die this year? Did they think he would fail, never live to come of age?

" Due in large part to your...heroic nature, dear." Mrs. Weasley murmured, still not meeting his eyes. " I thought it possible that you might...decide to go at it alone, to take down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on your own. And I'm sure you would think that would entail...removing yourself from our sight, at least for a time."

Harry felt his jaw drop, and hastily hinged it again; he hadn't considered going off on his own yet...he relied far too heavily on Ron and Hermione, he admitted to himself...but he suddenly wondered just how terrible it would be.

Mrs. Weasley glanced up at last, and there were tears in her eyes.

" And...operating under the assumption that you might to choose to leave us while under the cover of your education..." _She thought he was going to leave Hogwarts and never return_..." I wanted to give you a...a proper send-off. In case we don't get this chance again."

A great wave of appreciation and sorrow and love crashed over Harry, a kind of warmth that did not come from any object; without thinking it, without making the choice to move his feet, Harry closed the gap between them and embraced Mrs. Weasley with all of his might. Her arms wrapped around him in a tender reciprocation, and thoughts, unbidden, of his mother's letter returned to his mind.

" I hope you know..." Mrs. Weasley murmured, stroking his hair very gently. " I hope you know, Harry, dear, that you're like a son to me...that I love you as much as any of my boys. And I won't let He-Who-Must...no. Harry James Potter, I will _never _let V-V-_Voldemort_­ take you. We will every one of us keep fighting...even if we can't be by your side...until the very last. Do you understand me?"

" Yeah, Mrs. Weasley." Harry whispered; it was very difficult to find his voice.

After a moment, they broke apart, and Mrs. Weasley held his face and smiled at him, a glowing, real smile.

" You are _exactly _the man you should be, Harry." She said, rather mysteriously, and then she took him by his elbow again and pulled him around, and they turned and joined the party together.

A great swell of sound—voices, some singing, some laughing...and music playing, background noise—reached out to welcome them in as Mrs. Weasley and Harry stepped into the halo of light cast by great, floating lanterns scattered about the yard. Within a moment Harry was being pulled every-which-way, back-slapped, his hand being shaken by he-knew-not-who, and so many different people were greeting him; the Patil twins, Padma much quieter than usual...likely due to the fiasco on the train a the end of last term...Lavender Brown, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, Katie Bell, and an assortment of others who did not question the reason for the enormous celebration. Harry privately wondered if they were all so terrified of Voldemort's return that they were just glad for any occasion in which to forget their fears.

He felt sympathy for them, and gratitude as well, that they would all travel such a distance to be there for him. And so he let himself be swept up in the frivolity, passing from person to person, feeling more awake and alive then he had in some time. He whiled away the hours into dusk this way, and eventually found himself quite thirsty and wondering after his two best friends.

He found Ron and Hermione sitting on one of the long benches by the back door; it seemed someone—perhaps Mr. Weasley—had set things up ahead of time. Politely excusing himself as Ernie Macmillan embarked on a long-winded venture about the Ministry, Harry pushed his way through the volleying crowd until he reached his best friends.

They were sitting side by side, though not touching, both clutching bottles of butterbeer and looking rather nervous; well, Hermione was. Ron looked disgruntled.

" What's up?" Harry asked and he seated himself at Hermione's side, feeling quietly glad for this moment of reprieve. He was almost dizzy form spinning about to greet each person who said his name.

" Ron and I were just..." Hermione glanced, frightened, at Ron, and then continued, " We were just discussing the _real _reason for this party."

Harry caught Ron's eye, frowned, and then said simply, " _Don't_."

Ron grunted noncommittally.

" Don't, you _know _it's not like that, and I don't need you effed off at me on my birthday." Harry stated firmly. " I didn't ask for any of this."

" Knew you'd get it, though." Ron muttered, sounding very put-off.

" Oh, Ronald." Hermione shook her head.

" Not you too!" Ron snapped, rounding on her angrily. " You said it yourself a second ago, you said 'Only Harry would get a party like this!' That's exactly what you said!"

" I didn't mean it like that!" Hermione replied, distressed.

" Having a good talk about me, were you?" Harry felt his temper flare, as it always did when Ron had these fits of inferiority. " I don't think you'd be so angry if you knew the real reason for this party."

It felt as though all of the light and life that had fueled him a moment before had fled; Ron was mad at him again, and he hated when they rowed...

" Who needs to hear it?" Ron growled. " Famous Harry Potter, always gets the best. Never mind anything else...never mind any_one_ else...if it isn't Harry Potter, it's nobody..."

" Please, Ron..." Hermione whispered. " Don't..."

" Stop switching sides!" Ron barked.

" Lay off her, Ron, she's just trying to make you take your head out of your..."

" Harry, not you, too!" Hermione hissed, exasperated. " Honestly, the two of you are acting like children!"

Harry leaped to his feet, feeling rage trembling through every nerve in his body; he and Ron glared at each other, tension snapping between them, and then Harry turned and stormed into the house, pushing blindly past everyone who called after him.

The inside of the Burrow was dark and deserted; Harry strode sightlessly from room to room, kicking the doorposts and snarling out swearwords at random; he wanted to take out his wand and hex every bit of the house that he could access, but this seemed very disrespectful, not to mention dangerous, and so he refrained.

Harry found himself stalking up the stairs to the second floor, still boiling mad at Ron, unable to fully comprehend these dark bouts of anger that pulled his best mate away from him. Harry knew that he was less than everyone expected him to be...he was famous by name, not by nature...why couldn't Ron see that, too?

" Harry?"

He froze.

Someone had called to him, from beyond the closed door he had just passed.

" I recognize that feral snarl of rage." A soft voice went on. " Do join me, won't you, you charming chap?"

Bemused, Harry returned to the door, and pushed it open with his foot.

The room was dark, and very cold; Harry shivered as he entered, squinting to see through the darkness barely broken by the lantern-light seeping in between the drawn drapes.

" Fred?" He murmured.

" Right as always." The voice replied.

Harry stepped further into the room, his eyes beginning to adjust.

Fred was lying propped up on his bed; he looked pale, even in the darkness, his skin seeming to glow, and his eyes were heavily lidded. Harry's eyes traveled the length of the bed...and he froze, feeling suddenly awkward.

There was someone else in the bed with Fred.

" It's not what you think." Fred gave a breathy laugh at the look on Harry's face. " She gave dad right hell until he let her up, and she wouldn't leave...idiot woman walked seventy miles to get here, must be mad...and exhausted..."

Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable as he noted how Fred's arm was wrapped around Angelina Johnson's waist; her head was slumped against his thigh, and she was obviously deeply asleep.

" Er." Was all Harry could manage.

" I may be a wizard, Harry, and a marauder at heart." Fred cracked a lopsided smile. " But I'm not a lecher."

Harry nodded wordlessly, and pulled out a chair from the old desk near the door.

" So." Fred began, quietly. " Heard you swearing from all the way up here. What's got your knickerbockers in a twist?"

" Your idiot brother." Harry replied darkly.

" Understandable...if you mean Ron, that is." Fred nodded, with some effort, it seemed. " What's he done this time?"

" The usual...getting offended 'cause your mum threw me a party" the confession did not slake his anger; it only made it worse.

" Typical." Fred sighed. " And you're right jacked at him, aren't you?"

" Do the words 'Bat-Bogey Hex' mean anything to you?" Harry asked wryly.

" _That _bad, is it?" Fred sounded a token more cheerful, as though he was imaging bats sprouting form his little brother's nose.

" That's the nicest." Harry admitted. " I was also thinking about one you and George inspired...last year...Quidditch..."

" Painful." Fred commented, wincing.

They sat in silence for a time, Fred staring out of the small visible sliver of window and Harry staring at his hands; he was thinking very hard about Fred and Angelina and their current position, only with the roles switched about a bit...suppose _he_, Harry, was the one dying of some unknowable curse...who would be the girl lying beside him, sleeping while he held her?

Ginny's face flashed into his head, then flickered away.

" You know." Fred spoke, conversationally, after several long minutes. " This whole dying thing tends to put certain aspects of human nature in perspective."

" Such as...?" Harry was morbidly curious.

" Love, for one." Fred replied, glancing down at Angelina as he spoke. " Every different kind of it."

" I don't..."

" If you went outside right now and found out that Ron had...let's say, choked on a frog spawn, or tripped and broken his neck...oaf...well, how would you feel?" Fred asked, his eyes bright in the growing darkness.

Harry mulled over his answer.

" I'd be...I dunno. It'd be like losing a limb, you know? Like losing a part of _me_." And that was true, Harry admitted to himself. Ron _was _like a part of him...like his wand arm or his leading leg. Something necessary for him to survive.

" See, that's the thing, Harry." Fred murmured. " Takes a lot to realize it, but everything in this world ties back into love, doesn't it? Brotherly love...intimate love...parental love...like how your mum died for you."

Harry stared at him, stunned by the wisdom in Fred's words.

" Never take any of this for granted, Harry." Fred advised, his voice a token stronger. " Don't waste your time with petty arguments. It isn't worth it. Because, at the end of the day, you don't need the guilt and grief of having smashed your hand in a door on purpose just because it offended you...right before some bloke hacked your arm off."

In a twisted kind of way, it made sense; Harry continued to stare down at his hands, thinking. He heard Angelina groan and shift on the bed. Fred grunted as she bumped against him, and then sighed.

" Merlin's honor, if I make it out of this, I'm asking this blasted woman to marry me. No use waiting 'til we're old and gray." He muttered.

Harry grinned, and looked up from his hands after a moment.

Fred's cheek was resting on Angelina's head, now cushioned on his shoulder; they were both soundly sleeping.

Harry's smile grew, if possible, even wider; he got to his feet and let himself quietly out of the room; once in the hallway, he raced down the stairs two-at-a-time, dashed through the kitchen, and flung himself through the backdoor.

He heard a surprised yell, felt himself smack into something solid; four arms windmilled, four legs thrashed at random, and two bodies crashed onto the hard ground outside the door.

" Ow—_ouch_—geroff, Harry, you daft bugger..."

" Oof—damn—sorry, Ron!"

The two boys disentangled themselves, sat back, and looked at each other.

And then they spoke at the same time.

" _Sorry_."

" Sorry."

They blinked at each other.

" Look, I was being a bloody idiot." Ron admitted hastily. " I shouldn't've...I know you didn't...I guess I just felt...you know..."

" Don't." Harry said again. " It doesn't matter."

They smiled at each other.

" So..." Ron said after a moment, getting to his feet and offering his hand to Harry. " What were you doing in there? Turning my bed into a Devil's Snare?"

" Snapping Sycamore." Harry joked, taking Ron's offered hand and allowing his best mate to pull him upright. " No, I was visiting Fred, actually."

" Really? He's awake?" Ron looked suddenly eager. " Do you think I should...?"

" Er...no, he fell asleep again." Harry said hastily. " Angelina's with him."

" Blimey, I _knew _she still liked him. Ever since the Yule Ball..." Ron muttered. He glanced around vaguely, then added, " By the way, have you seen Hermione?"

" No, I haven't, but she might..."

A flicker of movement on the edge of the crowd caught his eye; Harry stared for a moment, blinked, stared again.

" Okay, Ron, now your mum's gone too far..."

Ron spun around at Harry's awed voice, and then blinked, his eyes going wide.

" No." He groaned. " Oh, I don't effing _believe _it..."

They exchanged a loaded glance, and then chorused, " _Krum!_"

Ron smacked his fist against his forehead.

" I gotta find Hermione, or else he'll be harassing her all night..." He mumbled to himself.

" Yeah, you're probably right...hey, Ron, wait a second." Harry grabbed his friend's shoulder as Ron made to vanish into the crowd.

" What?' Ron demanded, irritable again.

" I just thought you should know...your mum threw this party for me because she doesn't think I'll be coming around next year."

Ron looked horror-struck, clearly making the same assumptions that Harry originally had.

" Blimey, Harry, she doesn't think...?"

Harry lifted a hand in farewell, then turned and pushed his way through to the far edge of the crowd before Ron could call him back.

He walked until the noise of the voices was a dull murmur behind him; he walked until the lanterns were far gone and the only light came from the pinpricks of the stars high, high overhead in the soaring dome of the night sky. Then Harry sat on the warm grass and stared at the sky, still thinking.

Try as he might, he couldn't erase the image of Fred and Angelina together from his mind; it had not seemed perverse, but rather, so very _right_...as though she had been made for him, her body designed to fit into every curve of his. Unbidden, Harry remembered how it had felt, half-carrying the unconscious Ginny away from the dais in the Department of Mysteries...that same rightness had been there, in the back of his mind, though overshadowed...

But how _could _he think of her like that? She was Ron's sister, and in danger by being around him besides. Her capture was proof of that.

And yet he couldn't banish the image of her face from his mind.

" Absolutely perfect night, isn't it?"

Harry jumped rather violently, glancing over his shoulder.

Though he had known it possible from his first year, he had never failed to be surprised by how easily certain people could move, invisible, through the shadows, appear like wraiths from the night. He could not still his fast-beating hear for even a moment as a tall figure stepped from the darkness, an owl perched on its shoulder.

A very familiar owl.

" Hedwig!"

" You owl is extraordinarily brave, Harry, facing the treachery of this very dark and dangerous world to deliver your letter to me." That wise old voice was like a healing balm on Harry's much-abused mind; he made to rise, but a long-fingered hand reached out as if to stall his movements, and he froze, though a cry of joy could not be contained.

" Professor Dumbledore!"

Hedwig gave a start, then flew from Dumbledore's shoulder to Harry's arm, where she perched, talons digging into his jacket, amber eyes blinking dolefully up at Harry's bright face.

" Professor Dumbledore, sir, when did you get...?"

" I arrived only just this afternoon...precisely an hour ago, if the old pocket-watch I found in a dumpster just north of London is worth anything." There was a smile in Dumbledore's voice, and he stepped fully clear of the shadows at last.

Harry's eyes raked once over this familiar man, his headmaster; the long silver beard, the equally long hair, the bright, twinkling blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles, and the festive, gold-trimmed azure robes he was wearing were all so familiar, it made Harry's throat ache.

" You came back just for this?" Harry asked blankly.

" Indeed, Harry, for it _is _your birthday, and one I daresay you will not forget in years to come!" Dumbledore chuckled. Ignoring the grubbiness of the ground, he seated himself beside Harry. " And I rather felt it was time to...discuss matters with you."

Harry's mouth was suddenly dry.

" Ginny."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered away from the moon.

" I beg your pardon?" He asked mildly.

It was Harry's turn to be bemused.

" Ginny, right? You wanted to talk to me about Ginny?"

" I cannot see why you would think that, Harry. If you're having any sort of trouble with a young witch, I would suggest you speak to Arthur or Remus, I'm certain they would know a fair bit...Harry?"

For Harry was staring at Dumbledore now, thinking very fast, and feeling very uneasy.

" Professor Dumbledore...sir, have you been in contact with _anyone _this summer?"

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to stab into him.

" Regretfully, I must say I haven't, not since before your excursion to the Department of Mysteries...where I have been, there was little post accessibility...Hedwig was the first to find me." The wise blue eyes narrowed behind the glasses. " Harry, what's troubling you?"

" Sir..." Harry glanced down at Hedwig, drawing strength from her warm weight on his arm. " Sir, I don't know if anyone told you...but Sirius is...he's not dead."

Dumbledore had gone very still beside him.

" Strange as it is for me to say...if you'll forgive me for my honesty...I do not understand." Dumbledore murmured. " Sirius fell through the Archway, Harry, as we all saw..."

" Yeah, I know, but Ginny and I..." Harry took a deep breath; he had wanted, subconsciously, to tell Dumbledore this all along. Why did it make him so nervous now? " We found a Time-Turner...we went back...we saved Sirius." He explained in a breathless rush. " But things get a bit dodgy after that, we...the train, I mean, on the way back from Hogwarts...got attacked by Death Eaters. I guess Bellatrix Lestrange might've...might've seen Ginny before, when we were in the Department of Mysteries, you know, after we turned back time...and I guess they think she has Time Traveling powers or something, so they kidnapped her..."

Dumbledore gazed at him, very steadily, long after his voice had tapered off; Harry was not fooled by the serene expression. He could practically see the thoughts racing behind Dumbledore's eyes.

And then, in a movement so fast it was nearly blurry, Dumbledore lifted a hand and passed it over his suddenly ashen face.

" Harry, what have you done?"

There was no accusation, no rebuff in the words, but Harry felt like a child who had been scolded for being very deeply in the wrong. He stroked Hedwig's feathered cheek with one finger and let the guilt have its way with him.

After a moment, Dumbledore relaxed; his hand fell back against his thigh, and he spoke in a voice that was fuller, more controlled.

" I came here tonight because...certain things I saw while away have given me reason to believe that our enemy's cunning has...grown. Or perhaps I should say, it became _metamorphic_, a very long while ago."

" Sir...?"

" I will be...speaking to you in my office very often this year, Harry. There is a tale that you must be told, if you are to accomplish that task which you have taken for yourself. I wonder, however, if this knowledge will be as useful to you as I had originally thought." Dumbledore looked round at him, and Harry felt as though he had been struck a blow to his gut.

" Why wouldn't if be useful?" he demanded.

" What you told me just a moment ago has proven to me, Harry, that you are...too afraid of letting go that which you hold most dear." Dumbledore lifted a hand as Harry opened his mouth to protest. " This is an admirable trait, and one I have known about since your first year at Hogwarts. It is why you saw your parents in the Mirror of Erised, and it is, I think, why you consent to fight Voldemort to this day, knowing the danger to yourself...because you have a great many people you will fight for.

" But this trait can be a curse as much as a blessing. Love has no boundaries, Harry; what we do for that love, however, does and _should _be contained by certain restrictions. Time-Traveling, for example, is to be used in certain circumstances and only under higher supervision."

" I couldn't just let Sirius die!" Harry insisted angrily.

" You would have carried on in your great and terrible grief for some time, Harry, I know." Dumbledore nodded. " You would have likely had many episodes such as the one in my office. But time brings healing, even to the deepest and most painful wounds. What you and Ginevra Weasley did was compounding to that agony...for now you have your godfather, and yet you've lost a friend."

Harry hated that these words rang true; that Dumbledore was making him doubt his decision.

" Sirius is the closest thing I've got to a parent." Harry murmured, stroking Hedwig's wing. " I'm sorry, Professor, but that _is _worth fighting for."

" And worth risking everything for, too, as you've plainly shown." Dumbledore replied wryly. " I will have to speak to Arthur about this...bearing in mind that not all secrets need be disclosed...and you will be delivered an important piece of parchment in the forthcoming months that will, I believe, shape your future for many years to come."

Harry made to open his mouth, but Dumbledore clapped his hands once and rose.

" Now then, Harry, your birthday toast awaits! Off we go!"

Harry had to half-run to keep up with Dumbledore's lengthy stride; Hedwig took this in great long-suffering for several moments, then, with an exasperated hoot, she took flight and soared ahead of them, over the heads of the crowd and toward an open window on the top floor of the Burrow.

Several people watched her fly past, and then turned to see whose arrival she heralded; eyes grew wide, mouths hung slack, and whispers began to pass from ear to ear.

" _Dumbledore_!"

"Blimey, it's Professor Dumbledore!"

" What's he doing here?"

" I thought he was away for the summer!"

The tide of people—Harry's classmates—parted before their Headmaster like a sea; Dumbledore strode confidently through their midst, while Harry hung back, ignoring the curious stares of his friends as Dumbledore paused to speak to Mrs. Weasley, who was bearing a large birthday cake in her hands and staring at the Headmaster with shock plainly written upon her face.

" Hello, Molly." Dumbledore sounded faintly amused at her obvious disbelief, and bent low at the waist to speak to her, quickly and quietly; Harry remained rooted to the spot, watching as Mrs. Weasley nodded grimly, turned on heel, and marched stiffly through the back door of the Burrow.

There was an awkward, strained silence; the audience shifted from foot to foot and watched Dumbledore, and Dumbledore looked after Mrs. Weasley with a deep furrow between his rather large brows.

Then, very slowly, Dumbledore lifted his wand; a goblet sped from the nearby tabletop, into his wizened hand, and he turned, his eyes sweeping the crowd with the same authority of presence that brought silence before him to the Great Hall.

" A toast?" Dumbledore suggested. " Would someone like to stage a toast? Come, a toast, a toast of any sorts! To Quidditch! To love! To friendship! To the five-second rule and the joys of soaking ones feet in a warm bubble-bath!"

Reluctant laughter broke out amongst the crowd; Harry's eyes scanned for one person who had would have counted on to lead this toast—and a jolt ran through him as he realized that he had not seen Sirius since they had first arrived.

_Well, of course_. A very Hermione-ish sounding voice muttered in the back of his head. _Can't very well go flaunting himself in front of a bunch of students, can he? He'll be here as Snuffles, I'll bet...probably snuck off to transform soon as we got here..._

But there was no sign of the burly black-haired dog.

" Very well." Dumbledore heaved a heavy an unconvincing sigh of disappointment, then lifted his wand again; several bottles of butterbeer came barreling from a case beside the backdoor, and people caught them instinctively, though Dean Thomas took one rather smartly to the nose.

" My apologies, young Thomas." Said loudly as Dean rubbed his nose and cast the headmaster a very nasty look. " It seems, in my realization of what we should propose a toast to, I have become carried away...yes...yes..."

And he raised his goblet.

" A toast...to Harry Potter. Known to some as the Chosen One. Known to others as The Boy Who Lived. Known still to _others _as a psychotic young vagabond who ought be locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his days." More muffled laughter; Harry's ears felt very hot. " But to the greater majority of you, he is known as, quite simply, a friend."

" Damn straight." Harry heard someone mutter; he thought it might be George.

" Friendship." Dumbledore murmured reflectively. " It is a burden. It is a great freedom. It is a promise made and a promise given. I am Headmaster of your school, you call me by title and revere me as students ought to do. But I—placing no greater worth upon one student's life than another—admit myself taken in by Harry Potter. His courage validates his soul time and again...his selflessness defines him. He has a curious knack for making terrible choices that twine the fates in strange ways and always smooth them out in the end. And...most importantly of all...he does not let go of that which he holds dear."

Harry caught Dumbledore's solemn, twinkle-less blue eye, and did not look away, though he felt very uncomfortable in light of all that was being said.

" Things are changing." Dumbledore went on, his voice very quiet, though in comparison for the silence all around his voice was nearly a shout . " Grave things, dangerous things threaten our world. And if you are believing of what the _Daily Prophet _and other such sources say...it would be easily deduced that Harry will face many trying days in the future. There is ever the chance that we will not see him again for a very long time. For where those who leave us go, none can say but those who have gone...and we pray none shall follow after."

Dumbledore raised his goblet aloft.

" To Harry Potter...the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, and my dear friend."

Others took up his murmur, swelled it, changed it into a cheer; Harry, his neck and ears still unusually warm, looked around, memorizing each face, knowing full well that any of these people could be dead by tomorrow.

Dean and Seamus, George with Katie, Remus, Ron and Hermione with a very disgruntled-looking Krum, whose eyes flashed about to note Ron's shoulder brushing Hermione's as they threw fists of victory upward and cheered.

Harry caught Ron's eye, saw something clear from Ron's face like a passing shadow as his best mate gave him a thumbs-up and a wide, wide grin. Hermione had tears in her eyes, and she was clapping so hard Harry feared she would seriously bruise her hands.

A great swell of love surged through Harry's veins at the sight of them all...coming from far and wide, toiling, traveling...just to be with him.

_Never take any of this for granted, Harry. Don't waste your time with petty arguments. It isn't worth it._

And for a time, Harry Potter allowed himself to forget that he was lost and afraid, that he was not the hero they all needed him to be, that he was so much less than the man Dumbledore had made him out to be. He simply basked in the love that spread out from them all like an aura, listening to the whoops and yells and cheers of his friends that pierced into the night, arcing like a golden banner, like a pure essence of acceptance and camaraderie that was untamable, extending far beyond sadness' reach, stretching farther than the stars.

It was perfect; it was _home_.


	11. Forgiveness and Departure

_Author's Notes:__ I was unequivocally shocked by how this chapter—one I've had planned for several weeks—was so difficult to write. I had to redo it several times and am still not certain if I'm entirely pleased with it, but...I'll let my readers judge its worth to them._

_Also, the ending, while it might seem a bit confusing, it will be explained next chapter. Have no fear. ;) _

__

As always, please review, and do enjoy!

* * *

Chapter XI: Forgiveness and Departure

* * *

The month following Harry's grand party was a busy whirlwind; Mrs. Weasley, seeming to have been bolstered by the cheer of the event, set them all to cleaning Grimmauld until their backs ached and their fingernails were broken. Harry, Ron, and George complained every night at dinner, but were secretly pleased. It was very much like last summer, the only real differences being Ginny's absence, Fred's continued ill health, and Sirius's standoffishness that, while thawed, had not truly slackened.

Harry dwelled upon his godfather's cold demeanor less often than he worried about Fred; that Fred was still alive was a miracle in itself. He was still very ill, even after several weeks of his mother's doting attention, but Harry took his gaining restlessness as a sign of recovering. Fred was becoming less inclined to lie quietly in bed.

" Must be a gradual healing thing." George had said cheerfully.

A week after his birthday, Harry received an owl form Luna's father, apologizing for delaying an interview Harry had entirely forgotten had ever been mentioned, and saying he would possibly reschedule over the winter holidays if the opportunity became present.

Harry was relieved; he didn't feel like answering awkward questions.

Harry spent all of his free time with Ron and Hermione, roaming the forest behind Grimmauld, going over their course books for the year—"Oh, this is N.E.W.T level work, I'm so excited, but so very nervous, of course, what if I fail?" Hermione fretted about this almost daily—and trying unsuccessfully to avoid Aletris, who dropped by frequently to point out, it seemed, where they had missed a speck of dust or a shoeprint on the floor. If anything good came of her visits, it was that Harry found himself almost looking forward to the more directly malicious remarks of Snape and Malfoy; at least their snide attitudes gave him full reason to despise them, whereas Aletris seemed simply not to know any better.

A great source of contention that strained upon the last month of their summer holiday was Krum's stay; as Mrs. Weasley had done quite a bit to convince him to attend the party, saying afterwards that it was a fine idea for Harry to reacquaint himself with the witch and wizard whom he had squared off against in the TriWizard Tournament two years prior—Harry did not mention that only Krum had come to his party, and not Fleur—Krum had asked to be allowed residence at the Burrow for a time. He contacted Hermione from his temporary dwelling almost daily, which Harry found funny and Ron found exceedingly annoying.

Hermione seemed to think along the same lines as the latter.

" _Honestly!_" She snapped as she threw one of the many letters into the sitting-room fire. " He told me himself that he _only_ came to Harry's celebration because he was passing through to see someone else, how he has the _nerve _to act as though we're such good friends, he didn't write me all summer..."

Ron seemed enormously cheered by this conversation.

And so the days passed, weeks bleeding into weeks, and August flew by in a colorful rush; Harry found himself shockingly capable of ignoring Sirius, or rather the lack of his godfather, and he found himself enjoying life when he was not thinking about Fred or Ginny or wondering what Dumbledore had in store for him this year.

And the most wonderful thing occurred during the night of his party; returning to Grimmauld, draped in a garland given to him by he knew not who, sweaty from dancing and laughing with Ron and Hermione, he had felt, strangely, the moment they crossed the threshold, that he should go and find his bracelet.

And alone in the solitude of his and Ron's room minutes later, Harry had lain on his back on his comfortable bed and admitted, if only to himself, that he missed Ginny very much tonight of all nights and that the warmth from the bracelet felt like the warmth of her smile as he could imagine it through the crowd.

He had carefully opened the small golden Snitch and let the lulling melody soothe through the wounds of missing her like a healing salve; his worries for Fred, the image of Fred and Angelina together, his uncertainty over his standing with Sirius—who had met them far and away from the Burrow after the party had ended, looking blank-faced and very tired—simply melted away.

Harry had rolled over, clutching the bracelet to his chest, thinking of Ginny...

And the next moment, he had been opening his eyes to the bright light of dawn.

It was the first time he had slept in over two weeks; his sleeping patterns over the following days earned him the playful nickname of "badger" from George, who insisted that he could see Harry growing claws with which to slash his face every time George woke him in the mornings.

Harry had forgotten how wonderful sleep was, and he immersed himself in it whenever possible, though he still found himself unable to slumber every few nights, and his dreams were often punctuated with the memories of the disaster on the Hogwarts Express the previous term.

The only thing that truly besmirched the end of their summer was something that did _not _happen; Harry did not dream of the Room of Requirement, nor did he dream of anything that seemed to have been projected onto him from Voldemort. His dreams were his own; this disturbed him more than he let on.

Ron and Hermione were very happy for his return to a normal sleeping schedule, it seemed, and they did not comment on how interesting it was that the gift from Ginny had been the thing that put an end to his many sleepless nights. Harry knew Hermione, at least, found it amusing, and so he didn't mention—nor did he let Ron see—that he went to bed every night with the bracelet warm and familiar around his wrist; a necessity, no longer a burden.

The last days of summer fled past as the trio raced to pack all of the possessions they had lost or misplaced in the large, shadowy house, and before Harry really knew where the days had gone, Mrs. Weasley was coming into his and Ron's room one night and announcing, " You'll all need a good night's sleep if we're going to be at King's Cross on time tomorrow!"

Exactly one month to the day since his birthday, then; Harry allowed himself a moment to reflect as he propped himself up on an elbow in turn and grinned at Mrs. Weasley, who smiled back.

" How are you, Harry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, very tenderly.

" Better." Harry assured her, and he meant it.

Mrs. Weasley kissed both boys on their cheeks before she left, fluttering away down the hall to see Hermione off to bed; Harry and Ron changed into their pajamas, turned off the light, and lay stiff in the darkness, too excited to sleep.

" Wonder what this year'll be like?" Ron demanded of the shadows shivering across his ceiling.

" Who knows?" Harry shrugged, tucking his arms behind his head and closing his eyes loosely. " I s'pose I'll have some idea when Dumbledore sends for me, but whatever the case, we know it'll definitely be...

" _Not normal!_" The chorused, and they chuckled quietly in the darkness.

" 'Least Krum's gone tomorrow, though." Ron pointed out cheerfully. " Going off to see his friend in America...hey, maybe if I drop Neville a line, he'll hex Krum for us!"

" Neville's home by now, Ron, term starts tomorrow." Harry pointed out patiently.

" Oh, yeah...right..." He was silent for a moment, and then he perked up. " Well, at least _we'll _be out of here, too...can't stand this place anymore..."

Harry had to agree; far from seeming friendly and welcoming, Grimmauld had become distastefully repetitive, every door, every floor, every corner so achingly familiar, it made Harry's head throb to walk about anymore. To offset the monotony, Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent a good deal of time with George and Fred, the latter of whom, now seemingly on the road to recovery, was beginning to think like the businessman he was; he and George spent hours locked away in Fred's room, plotting all sorts of Wizard Wheezes products to come; sometimes they enlisted Harry, Ron, and Hermione to assist, or otherwise to play guinea pigs.

Regardless, Harry felt he could sympathize with Sirius more than ever...Sirius, who hated Grimmauld with a very white-hot rage that only terrible, scarring memories could bring about. Harry longed to be free of the prison of these four walls.

It seemed he had hardly drifted to sleep, warm despite the chilliness of the night, when Mrs. Weasley was patting his cheek and whispering in his ear, bringing him round to wakefulness; Harry sat bolt upright in bed, trying desperately to grasp the elusive threads of a fast-fading dream that was slipping away though he had only just woken from it, as Mrs. Weasley moved on to wake Ron.

The house was still utterly dark; Harry and Ron, yawning fit to dislocate their jaws, pulled on their Muggle clothing for blending in at King's Cross, the boarding station, and hastened to the basement, where Hermione was listlessly stirring a bowl of cereal, chin propped in hand and eyes glazed. Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye, Aletris, and Sirius were sitting around the table as well, not eating, and looking anywhere but at each other.

Lupin glanced up as Ron and Harry slouched in, and he looked amused by their obviously half-asleep states.

" Good morning, you two." He greeted mildly.

" Morning." Harry yawned.

" Hmph." Ron grunted blandly, flinging himself down in a chair beside Hermione. " Morn'..."

" Excuse him, he's not got brains before ten-thirty in the morning." Hermione snapped, swatting Ron's arm as she said it.

" Hey..." Ron mumbled, though he didn't protest any more fully to her insult.

The Order members laughed; they had been in higher spirits, Harry noted, since Dumbledore's reappearance at his party. As though their good mood had siphoned off onto him, Harry helped himself to his cereal with a smile on his face, and listened idly as Remus and Tonks began to debate the best ways to guard the train this time around.

Harry was halfway through his second bowl of cereal—which he reckoned had taken off of licorice snaps for the way each bite seemed to sizzle in his mouth—when Sirius stood up suddenly, pushing his chair roughly back from the table. Lupin glanced round at him in mild surprise, and Harry looked up warily as his godfather moved to the base of the stairs, then glanced back and motioned him.

" Outside." He said curtly.

" Sirius." Lupin said curtly, and both Sirius and Harry—who had half-risen from his chair, but now hesitated—turned to stare at him. Lupin looked between them, and then he shook his head. " Watch the time."

The corner of Sirius's mouth jerked just slightly, and then he vanished up the stairs; Harry, feeling as though history might soon repeat itself, shrugged helplessly at Ron and Hermione, then followed his godfather.

The foyer was deserted when Harry reached it, but he knew instinctively where to go; grabbing his jacket from its hanger beside the door, Harry shrugged into it and hurried out the front door, into the still, dark morning.

Sirius was waiting for him, the great black dog perched on the edge of the curb, leaning its face into the wind. Harry felt as though this was a less strange, less alien side of his godfather. Smiling slightly, he moved forward to stand at Sirius's side.

" 'Lo, Padfoot." He muttered, and he reached out awkwardly to drag his fingers through the knotted hair at the base of Sirius's large head. Sirius looked round at him, pale eyes blank, then whisked around and trotted behind the house, Harry, bemused, following.

They walked for a time through the forest backing Grimmauld, Sirius padding confidently, Harry hurrying in his wake, hands deep in the pockets of his windbreaker. He could not understand why Sirius, who had ignored him for two solid months, was suddenly dragging him off to be alone.

Unless...

But Harry pushed the traitorous thought away before it had even fully formed; he had no reason to fear Sirius. Sirius, his godfather, whom Harry trusted with his life. No matter what had shattered between them, Harry knew that no danger would befall him at Sirius's hands.

After a good deal of walking, Sirius stopped so abruptly, Harry nearly ran into him. The massive dog raised one paw, shook it as though he had trodden on a thorn, then stepped forward two more paces—and rose, from four legs to two, shaking his hair free of an accumulation of twigs and leaves as he did so.

Harry leaned back against a tree and watched as Sirius turned to face him.

It was the first time Harry had dared look his godfather in the face in weeks, and he noticed the alarming difference there; Sirius's eyes were lightless and blank, his face thin once more and hollowed at every curve. Harry could see the shadowy ghost of an Azkaban prisoner back in the stiff contours of Sirius's frame, and he felt suddenly sympathetic.

But Sirius's first words erased that sympathy in a heartbeat.

" If there's something you want to say to me, say it."

Harry blinked, taken aback. Whatever he had—or had _not—_been expecting, it had never included this.

" Er..."

" Come on, Harry." Sirius ran one hand through his hair. " What you said on the train, you obviously meant it. So, come out with it. Tell me the whole thing. Tell me all of it."

Defiance lashed through Harry like a whip.

" Tell you all of _what_, exactly?" He demanded.

" Tell me that I'm a horrible excuse for a godfather. Tell me that the way I've treated you lately should earn me a cell back in that ruddy prison. Tell me you blame me for Ginny being taken by my dear cousin and her friends. Tell me you wish you hadn't gone back for me." Sirius's hand shook as it passed over his face. " Tell me all of it, because every word would be the truth."

The defiance rapidly changed to anger.

" You're bloody mental, you know that?" He demanded.

Sirius dropped his hand, and glared.

" Obviously."

" Oh, shut up!" Harry snapped. " Stop acting like this!"

" Like what?" It was Sirius who sounded defiant now, like a child denying horrible actions.

" Like what happened on the train was your fault! Like what happened to my mum and dad all those years ago is your fault! Because I know you blame yourself for both, but it wasn't you! It's effing Voldemort whose done it, he's doing it all, and the last thing we need is you laying about pitying yourself!"

" I don't pity..."

" Like hell you don't!" Harry snapped. " When are you going to wake up and realize that this is all there is?" Harry flung his arms wide to emphasize, indicating the world around them. " You got your second chance, now you'd better start living it! Ginny's...what happened on the...Bellatrix...it wasn't your fault, any of it! So _stop _taking everything on yourself and start paying attention to what's out there!"

" If you and Ginny hadn't..." Sirius began, but Harry cut him off again.

" Exactly! Me and Ginny! We made a choice, and I don't regret it, so you can get your head off your effing self and start acting like a member of the Order! Just because my parents are gone doesn't mean there's no one else in this world who understands you!" And as he spoke, Harry stepped forward and raised his fist, showing the ice-white scars on the back of his hand that glittered in the newly-risen sunlight. " You're not the only one whose got problems, or scars, but there's a way to get over them!"

" You don't understand..."

" I understand a damn sight better than you think!" Harry swore loudly, then continued, " How about what a pain in the arse it is to be locked up in Grimmauld? How about the way it feels when something really, really important gets taken from your life? How about the way it feels when everything's falling apart and you don't know what to do or who to turn to, and everyone else is just as confused as you, and you can only live day to day because you don't know if...if..."

A horrible lump swelled in Harry's throat as he was confronted again with the terrible notion of his friends dying at Voldemort's hand. _Ron...Hermione...Ginny...Neville...Luna...Fred...George...Remus...Sirius..._

" Harry..." Sirius sounded thunderstruck.

" Don't." Harry hissed. " Don't act like you've got forever to make things right. Because there's never forever. What if Remus died tomorrow, or if Voldemort hopped on the train and hexed me into oblivion? Bet you wouldn't be able to live with yourself, would you? Or what if you'd really died that day in the Department of Mysteries, and I'd never gotten a chance to say goodbye?"

And the lump completely constricted his airways; Harry turned, leaned against the tree, and fought against the hot tears stinging the backs of his eyes. So much he had said that he hadn't even known there had been to say, but somehow, he felt lighter for it...and yet heavier as well, as though he was placing something poisonous into the wound that was his rift with Sirius. Had he said more that could never be taken back, no matter how desperately he tried?

There was no stirring behind him, no hint of movement from Sirius.

And then, unexpectedly, his godfather sighed.

" They'll be wanting us back soon."

The lack of retaliation was ominous. Nevertheless, Harry pulled himself away from the tree, dried his strangely damp face on his sleeve, and shrugged his shoulders deeper into his jacket.

" Okay. Lead the way." He said as calmly as he could.

Sirius gazed at him for a very long moment, and Harry stared right back, giving no ground to those fathomless gray eyes, eyes he knew so well...

Sirius stepped forward suddenly, and rested his hand on Harry's shoulder; his touch was cold even through the jacket, and very firm. Harry had the sudden urge to flinch away, but he resisted.

" You know..." Sirius murmured, and with his free hand, he pushed the hair from Harry's forehead, so he could see his scar. " For the longest time, I think I've been looking for James in you, instead of trying to understand the person you are...Harry James Potter, not the other way around."

Harry still did not blink; he did not understand Sirius's purpose in saying this, only knew that he was troubled by the desperate sadness in his godfather's eyes.

" You're right." Sirius went on. " I've been an arse. I've been nearsighted. But you have to understand how difficult it is for me, trying to be close to you after I lost your dad. I'll admit, you and Remus are...you're the closest friends I've had besides James, and the thought of losing either of you..." He shuddered, seeming revolted.

" Then why are you pushing us away?" Harry whispered.

" Because I can't stand that kind of pain. It almost killed me once. I can't die like that again." Harry had never seen his godfather so honest...or so vulnerable. With barely a foot of space between them, feeling Sirius's hands shaking on his shoulders, Harry understood at last what it was to be broken—seeing it through the eyes of another. " I lost your dad and your mum...what you said on the train made me realize...made me think I knew what it was like to lose you, too..."

" You're not going to lose me, Sirius." Harry articulated each word perfectly, hoping his reassurances were more pronounced than they felt. " And you know, if everyone lived like you did, we'd all be bloody well damned."

Sirius's lips twitched again.

" Fouled things up, haven't I?"

" We both have." Harry corrected him.

Sirius shook his head.

" Let's get back."

Silence reigned between them the whole way home.

* * *

The mood in Grimmauld Place was quietly lighthearted, a tangible essence of excitement hanging upon the air even as Harry hung up his jacket in the foyer. Sirius, back in his four-legged canine form, pushed through the door behind him, shook the dust from his feet, and transformed mid-stride, passing Harry without a word and vanishing up the stairs.

Harry hesitated in the foyer, looking after him, feeling as though no progress between them whatsoever had been made.

" Harry!"

He looked sharply around.

Ron and Hermione were emerging from the basement, both looking considerably more alert than they had when he had last seen them. Ron ran one hand through his hair as they drew even with Harry, and he looked distinctly uneasy.

" Harry, did you...?" It was Hermione who spoke, a clear question shining in her eyes.

" We had another row." Harry said shortly, for he could think of no other description for the heavy words he and Sirius had spoken or the cutting tones that had delivered them.

" Blimey." Ron sighed. " Never seen you two at it like this..."

" Well, there's a first time for everything." Harry said with a shrug, hoping he seemed more nonchalant than he felt. " I don't...let's not talk about it."

" Right." Ron said with a knowing look " Anyway, Mum's getting everything together...the Order's already left, they'll meet us at the station." Ron explained. " Lupin wanted a word with you, but he said it'll have to wait...oh."

Ron and Hermione both jumped slightly, and looked around.

Sirius had joined them; he was clutching a wadded piece of parchment in one hand, and looked very grim indeed.

" Go upstairs and get your luggage." He said brusquely to Ron and Hermione. With a nervous glance at Harry, Hermione seized Ron's elbow and pulled him toward the stairs.

" Er..." Harry felt distinctly awkward again the moment his friends had gone. To spare himself the long, pregnant pause, he nodded to Sirius's hand. " What's that?"

" Something you should have gotten a long time ago." Sirius replied simply, and he extended his hand. Keeping his eyes down, Harry accepted the proffered parchment, and unfolded it, smoothing out the rough edges.

And then he could only stare.

The picture was of James and Lily, Harry, Sirius, Remus, and Peter Pettigrew; they all had their arms around one another—except for Lily, who was cradling Harry securely. Harry was surprised to realize that this was a photograph taken with a Muggle camera, a knowledge born of the realization that every smile was frozen in place, and that Lily's lips were pressed immobile to Harry's head.

" Why...?" Harry could barely speak the word around the lump returning to his throat.

" Because you're always seeing how the world is; this is how it should be." Sirius replied softly. " I didn't want to show you before in case you took it the wrong way."

Harry barely heard him; a different voice than Sirius's now echoed in his head, a voice that he hadn't hear in just exactly one month and one day.

_It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live._

As much as his heart might ache for it, Harry knew, this simple photograph would never be a reality. Because two of the number were dead, two pieces of a whole disbanded, and it was a dream that, like so many others, had been devastated in Voldemort's rise to power.

" Thanks." Harry mumbled, glancing up at last.

Sirius stared at him, hands thrust deep into his pockets, and Harry looked back, unsure. They were silent for a very long minute.

Then Sirius shook his head and sighed.

" I really should have done that toast at your birthday."

It was the only thing Harry needed to hear; he closed the space between them with a powerful embrace that was two months in the coming; Sirius's arms locked around him, returning the hug fiercely, and in the gesture was sincere forgiveness.

" Sorry for being such a prat on the train." Harry said, his words muffled against his godfather's chest. " And in the forest."

" Sorry for teaching you to be one." Sirius replied.

Laughing slightly, Harry pulled back, meeting his godfather's serious gray eyes and feeling suddenly hesitant all over again.

" You don't...do you forgive me?" He asked.

Sirius sighed, dropping one arm but keeping his other hand on Harry's shoulder.

" There's nothing to forgive, Harry. It's all me. You don't know how hard it is for me to...to be close to people after what happened to your mum and dad...and Peter..." He shook his head. " I'm learning. It's a God-awful excuse for the way I've acted these past few weeks, but it's the truth."

Harry felt the relief crash over him in a suffocating wave, but did not let it consume him; he still had one more mistake to rectify.

" About what I said...on the train. About you not knowing me..."

" I'm working on that, too."

They smiled tentatively at each other.

" Question." Sirius said, after a moment.

" Yeah?" Harry grinned at his godfather's uncertain tone.

" The night you got here, I was outside your door; you were talking to Ron and Hermione, and you told them you weren't sure going back in time and sacrificing Ginny..."

" That wasn't your fault." Harry interrupted firmly. Sirius looked skeptical, but seemed prepared to let it slide.

" Regardless." He said. " You said you didn't think it was worth it, in the end. Did you mean that? That is wasn't worth it to you?"

That question...which he had struggled with so wretchedly for the past several weeks...was remarkably easy to answer now that he was standing here, speaking to Sirius directly, with no animosity between them, for the first time in two months.

" No."

Sirius's lips twisted in a half-smile.

" I wondered."

" Now you know." Harry shook his head. " We've got a lot of catching up to do, you and me."

" Later. There's time, now, and plenty of it, thanks to your stunt at the end of last year." Sirius chuckled. " Right now, you need to get yourself to school and start learning what you need to know to survive out there."

Harry hesitated for a moment, deliberating, and then he threw caution to the wind and stepped forward to embrace his godfather again.

" I missed you, Sirius." He admitted lowly.

Sirius's hand moved, his arm tightening around Harry's shoulders.

" I missed you, too." He murmured. " It's going to be a rough year, Harry. Look after yourself...and for God's sake, get in touch if you need me."

" I will." Harry assured him firmly, and he couldn't keep a grin from his face as he pulled away, Sirius's arm sliding from his shoulder to fall limply back at his side. Then, more gravely, he added, " You...take care of yourself too, Sirius. Don't do anything stupid."

" Yeah, and tell Dumbledore not to be smart, and Hermione not to know the answer to everything, and Ron not to be thick..." Sirius tallied off, smirking.

Harry laughed, and let it go; he knew Sirius's offhandedness was not flippancy.

" So...see you sometime later this year, right?" Harry attempted to verify.

" Promise." Sirius confirmed. " I told you last year, Dumbledore has stuff for me to do." He added mysteriously.

" Right." Harry smiled, and moved for the stairs.

" Harry?"

He paused.

" Remember...a promise is a promise. We _will _be a family someday, when all of this is behind us."

Harry glanced over his shoulder.

" Thanks for giving me back my dad's cloak." He murmured.

" Prongs would've wanted you to have it." Sirius said with a shrug.

Harry grimaced, and lifted one hand in farewell.

" 'Bye, Sirius. See you around."

Harry took the stairs two at a time, feeling incredibly light, as though he could float if he wished. He entered his and Ron's room, and kicked the door shut behind him.

Ron and Hermione rushed to greet him, looking anxious.

" What happened?" Hermione demanded.

Harry shrugged, brushing past them to finish his packing, with included tucking the new photograph away with the album stashed in his cauldron; all the while he packed, his mind raced, his heart swelling to enfold around this new sort of warmth bubbling inside of him. It was as though a shriveled, dead part of him had revived. He felt he couldn't fully contain the life and happiness bursting from inside of him.

Sirius forgave him...he wasn't mad at Harry...he forgave him...he had his godfather back...he _forgave _him...

The joy was too much to contain; Harry leaped straight upward and gave a whooping yell of joy; Ron and Hermione laughed at this, Hermione beaming proudly at him, her eyes shining.

" Finally! Oh, this is wonderful, you've made up at last!"

" Way to go, mate!" Ron congratulated, laughter sparking in his eyes. " This'll definitely make Christmas more fun this year."

" I'll say." Harry grinned at them both, trying to ignore that niggling voice of doubt in his head that said it wouldn't be much of a Christmas without Ginny...

" Hey, you three!" George poked his head into the room, smiling carelessly at them all. " Mum's got her knickers in a twist, she's flaming mad, can't seem to find her wand...best get this lot downstairs before she rains fire on you..."

" Right." Ron said hastily, and he made a movement toward his and Hermione's luggage, propped up near the door.

" Never you mind, little brother." George said idly, and he drew his own wand; with a lazy flick, he sent their luggage sailing upward and then careening down the stairs. Ron looked distinctly jealous, and didn't seem to notice that Harry was having a great deal of trouble stuffing his Invisibility Cloak into his already overstuffed trunk. Thankfully, Hermione took pity on him and came to his aide, and together she, Harry, Ron, and George bore his trunks, broom, and owl cage downstairs, where Mrs. Weasley was waiting, rather red-faced and narrow-eyed.

They were all extremely delighted when Fred descended from the upstairs to see them off—Harry noted that he was looking much more rosy-toned and was smiling widely and naturally, and he made a point to dig his knuckles into Ron's mop of messy red hair, in a friendly fashion, as they said their farewells.

" Ouch—hey—quit that—you know, I liked you better when you were sleeping all the time—" Ron grumbled halfheartedly, ignoring his mother's disapproving look. He escaped Fred's clutches, hastily shook George's hand, then hurried out past his mother, into the chilly morning, scooping up his luggage from beside the door as he went.

Hermione bade the twins a hasty farewell and followed Ron out the door; Harry nodded to each of them in turn, promised he would write if he had any need of a Skiving Snackbox or a Pygmy Puff, and hurried out into the chilly morning.

Their trip to King's Cross—by way of Ministry transportation arranged by Mr. Weasley—was largely uneventful. Harry, Ron, and Hermione whiled away the short drive by debating, in hushed voices, whether or not they should resume the D.A. lessons they had begun the previous year. Hermione was all for the idea—"After all, didn't you hear what Hagrid said, it sounds as if the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is no better than Umbridge herself."—and Ron seemed very middle of the road about it all. Harry, however, was unsure.

" I dunno, Hermione." He whispered, looking quickly toward Mrs. Weasley, sitting in the seat in front of them, then leaning in closer to his friends. " Dumbledore more or less got the sack because of us last year. Besides, now the Ministry'll know where to look if they think we're up to something, the Room of Requirement might not be safe anymore..."

They carried on in this vein for quite some time, so deeply immersed in their thoughts that Harry was very surprised when the car pulled to a halt.

" What, already?" Hermione said, echoing his thoughts, as she straightened up in her seat, brows furrowed.

The car drivers fetched trolleys, aided them in unloading their luggage, then departed. Harry kept a sharp eye out for the members of the Order, but saw no sign of them until they had crossed the barrier between platforms Nine and Ten, emerging onto the invisible Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Had he not seen them all in their cloaks on the train at the end of last term, Harry would not have recognized the four figures standing in the shadows of the barriers arching against the flank of the platform. He nodded briefly to them, then hesitated as the nearest of the figures extended one hand and beckoned him over.

" That's Remus." Mrs. Weasley murmured, pushing Harry away from the trolley. " Go see what he wants, dear, I'll get your things on the train."

Harry nodded, glanced furtively about, then hastened into the shadows.

Remus seized Harry by the elbow the moment he reached him, and pulled him backwards, behind one of the arches and out of sight. One of the other Order members—Harry suspected, from the slighter build beneath the cloak, that it was Tonks—drifted subtly over to take his place.

Lupin pushed his hood back against his shoulders and seized Harry by the shoulders, looking him square in the eye.

" Have you made up with Sirius?" He asked quickly.

" Er...yeah." Harry replied.

" Good, I thought he'd get over that sometime. Listen..." Remus glanced over his shoulder, then spun Harry about and began to lead him along the row of arches, keeping one hand on his arm. " Things are far worse for the Order than Molly and Arthur are letting on, Harry. As you're the one this whole venture centers around, I think you have the right to know."

" To know what?" Harry asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

Lupin spun him about and pushed Harry up against the station wall, leaning close to him so that his words could not be overheard by any passerby.

" Things are changing very quickly in our world, Harry. Some of us fear for others...some of us fear our own selves. Danger is abundant, Harry, and I don't know how safe Hogwarts is anymore. You need to be extremely watchful this year. And...I'll need you to help me keep an eye on certain people."

" Like who?" Harry asked, half-thrilled, half-frightened.

" Hagrid. Sirius. Hermione." Lupin tallied off the names quickly.

" What? Why them?" Harry asked, feeling a chill of fear sliding down his spine.

" Because a decree for the registration for Muggle-Borns is going to be passed soon, and you know about the legislation that was put into effect concerning werewolves, Animagi, and those with giant blood. It's compulsory, Harry. And you and I both know that some of our friends are...are... are less _inclined_ to heed that compulsion. So I've taken measures to throw them off our trail...to make them less likely to follow someone such as myself back to the source, by association...to keep the eye off of Sirius and Hagrid, especially..."

Lupin's face twisted as he said it, and a horrible realization dawned on Harry. Something he had forgotten over a month ago seemed to stir within him, and he blinked, hardly daring to believe it.

Memories came to him, unbidden, of his first night in the Burrow that summer—of the following morning, when Lupin had disappeared, so suddenly...

" Remus..." Harry said slowly. " Remus, you didn't."

Lupin's eyes were anguished.

" I had no choice."

And he jerked up the sleeve of his robe to reveal, branded on the inside of his right arm, still red-rimmed after a month of waning, a large letter _W_, with the Ministry insignia stamped below.


	12. Black Hole

_Author's Notes: The hardest part of this chapter was the Sorting Song. That one took me FOREVER to write._

_Also! I would like to reccomend to all of my readers what is possibly the greatest Harry Potter fanfiction I've ever read; Backwards with a Purpose by Deadwoodpecker. If you should like a bit to read between my updates, you should trot off and read that...it is very long and is COMPLETE!_

_And, without further ado, I give you...the twelfth chapter! Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter XII: Black Hole

* * *

" He did _what?!_"

" He didn't, he _wouldn't_, not Professor Lupin..."

" Yeah, you'd think so, but he did."

Harry's grim words were as potent as a Silencing Charm, hanging blankly in the stifling atmosphere of the compartment; Hermione and Ron stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. Harry, lying stretched out on his back on the seat, did not meet their confused gazes.

" But...wasn't it Lupin himself who said that wearing a mark for something you don't believe in is just as bad as what You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters do? You know..." Ron tapped his left arm as he spoke, indicating the place where Voldemort's followers were branded with the Dark Mark.

Harry shook his head, staring out the window as the countryside whizzed by, showing them on their way at last; he was grateful that Ron and Hermione had relinquished their corridor-patrolling duties to the prefects of the other Houses for the ride, leaving them free to debate Lupin's decision amongst themselves in solitude.

" He said he did it so they'd think he was compliant...the Ministry obviously knows he's friendly with Hagrid, so I guess Remus figures, if they've got a catch like him under their thumb, they might forget about Hagrid for a while..." Harry found this sort of reasoning very dodgy indeed, and apparently he was not the only one.

" Oh, for goodness' sake, that's such rubbish!" Hermione snapped.

" What?" Ron said blankly, turning to look at her.

" Well, isn't it obvious?" Hermione had regained that supercilious, know-better tone that always set Ron on edge. It did not fail to do so now; Ron sat up more stiffly in his seat, eyes narrowed.

" Going to let us in on the secret this time, or are you going to wait a few weeks with going to the library before you do?" He said harshly.

Hermione blinked, but her haughty smile did not slip.

" Well, it _is _obvious." She said loftily. " Professor Lupin feels guilty about what happened to Kreacher, he's afraid of what _could _happen if he has another lapse in judgment, so he's gone to the Ministry in hopes that, if he can't control himself, _they _will."

" Er...how do you reckon _that_?" Harry asked, feeling highly confused. Hermione huffed a heavy sigh, then crossed her arms atop the _Advanced Transfiguration _copy opened in her lap, and leaned slightly forward.

" I read up on the Ministry's intentions the moment this law was passed." Hermione said, and she was speaking quietly, earnestly to them now. " The brand that werewolves, Animagi, and half-bloods are being forced to wear is taken so likely off of the Dark Mark, it's made me wonder if there are really Death Eaters in the Ministry still, feeding ideas to their friends."

" Well, go on then, Hermione, what's the idea?" Ron asked, looking very interested.

" Well..." Hermione looked suddenly fierce. " The brand on the inside of the right arm works very much like the Dark Mark does when summoning V-Voldemort." Hermione pressed two fingers to her own right arm, as though searching for a pulse through her sweatshirt. " Whenever an Animagi transforms, or when a werewolf begins the change during the full moon, the mark grows very warm. This alerts the ministry, and they dispatch Aurors to the werewolf's house to keep a close eye on him or her, or in the case of Animagi, they send a tail to keep an eye on their movements."

" What about giants?" Harry asked, morbidly fascinated.

" That...as far as I can tell, they only brand them to warn the public." Hermione looked outraged now. " Which is so unfair, how are people like Hagrid supposed to find good relations when everyone shuns them for wearing some worthless _mark?_"

" Not to be rude, Hermione, but Hagrid's not exactly...small." Ron said, looking at Harry with amusement. " I think most people can tell he's half-giant."

" Well, it's all such rubbish, and if I were Professor Lupin, or Sirius, or Hagrid, I wouldn't stand for it." Hermione said, sitting back and crossing her arms.

Harry glanced uneasily at Ron, who looked wholly undisturbed; Harry hadn't mentioned the Muggle-born decree yet, not wanting to upset Hermione, or worse, to goad her into doing something foolish. But Harry felt that Ron, of all people—Ron, who was closer to Hermione perhaps even than Harry was—deserved to know.

" Er, Ron." Harry said. " Could I have a word with you? Outside?"

" Sure." Ron looked taken aback, but still slightly curious, and he followed Harry willingly from the compartment. Hermione watched them go, her brown eyes suspicious, but she said nothing.

" Listen." Harry began, the moment they were outside the carriage. " Remus told me...they're going to pass some registration act about Muggle-borns."

" I...what?" Ron's eyes went utterly blank.

" They want Muggle-borns...people like Hermione...to be registered, or something." Harry hissed. " I think...I think they want to keep them away from Purebloods. To keep from diluting the bloodlines."

Ron's hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He was no longer blank-faced, but rather ashen and trembling.

" No." he whispered. " No, no, they can't do that...it's free choice, my dad said..."

" The world is changing." Harry said simply.

" And for the better, if you ask me." A drawling voice spoke from behind them.

As one, their movements as perfectly synchronized as though they had planned it, Harry and Ron whirled and drew their wands.

Draco Malfoy was lounging against the open door of a nearby compartment, clearly listening in to their conversation. His pale face was sneering, and his gray eyes were full of reproach.

" About time they started tagging Mudbloods." He said lazily. " Next it'll be blood traitors and disgraces to the wizard name who get their comeuppance. In the meantime, Weasel, Potty, you'd better get your little Mudblood friend out of the country, who knows what'll happen if she...ah..._falls into the wrong hands_ during her registration?"

A barely human snarl of rage ripped from Ron's chest, but Harry proved twice the faster; he was squaring up to Malfoy, their eyes on level, within a moment.

" Keep your moth _off _of Hermione." He spat the words, trembling with rage. Malfoy's eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed maliciously in his pallid, pointed face.

" Oh, Potter, you got yourself a _girlfriend_?" He demanded, his voice oozing poisonous contempt. " Fair change up from last year, isn't it, I saw you with the little Weasley girl before the end of term..."

Several things registered in Harry's mind at that moment; he was face-to-face with Draco Malfoy for the first time since last summer; Draco had noticed his connection with Ginny; Draco had _not_ been on the train end of last year.

_Malfoy knows where Ginny is_.

A bright flash of light issued from the end of Harry's wand as the thought occurred to him; Malfoy, cowed by the unexpected brilliance, shied, but Harry seized him by the front of his robes and slammed him bodily against the door, chest-to-chest with Malfoy, his wand digging into his neck.

" Where is she?" He asked, and his own voice surprised and terrified him. Like Ron's snarl, it was far less than human.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed even further; he looked neither frightened nor compliant, but, as always, arrogant and defiant.

" She'll be dead by now, I expect, knowing what the Dark Lord has got in store for her." Malfoy jeered. " Filthy disgraceful bi—"

Ron's fist swung out of nowhere, pounding into Malfoy's face so hard, it sent a shower of blood arcing upwards, as well as sent him staggering; Harry released Malfoy as he fell, and whirled, pointing his wand at his fallen enemy. Only one spell came to his mind, only five words telling him what he needed to do.

_You've got to mean it...!_

" _Cruc—"_

" Harry, _no!_ _Protego!_"

A shield erupted between Harry, Ron, and Malfoy; Harry felt Ron's fingers circling his wrist, forcing his wand hand down, but he had stopped himself already mid-curse, and turned.

Aletris—her hood down, her red hair hanging tangled against her cheek—was approaching them down the swaying corridor of the train, her own wand drawn, her eyes fixed on the shield she had erected before them.

" Harry, you stupid boy...an _Unforgivable?!" _Aletris hissed.

" I...I didn't mean to, it just..." Harry began.

" He knows where they're keeping my sister!" Ron said loudly. " Aletris, he knows, we have to make him tell us!"

" Who's _that_?" Malfoy demanded, glaring at Aletris from the floor.

" A half-blood witch who's a damn sight better at sorcerery than you, boy." Aletris snapped. " Let's see...the pale, shoddy hair...the unintelligent eyes...the cocky attitude...the sick pastiness...you're a Malfoy, aren't you?"

Draco's eyes flickered over Aletris's face, shock registering, and then he nodded grudgingly.

" I knew your mother...we went to school together. Hell of a witch, but she was always a power-hungry one." Aletris shook her head. " You two, get back to your compartment. Harry, keep your wand to yourself."

" Fine." Harry muttered, glaring at Malfoy. " If he keeps his mouth shut."

" Oh, I'll be having a word with this one, don't worry." Aletris assured them, glaring at Malfoy. " I think Dumbledore will need to have a word with him, as well..."

Harry should have been delighted by this, but his rage at Malfoy's sting over Ginny was still scorching against the back of his throat, driving him mad with fury. He was only dimly aware of Ron tugging him back toward their carriage, and he let himself be led; he wasn't sure he could have stayed away from Malfoy otherwise.

Hermione looked up as they entered; she looked very irritated.

" What were you two...?"

And then she seemed to notice Malfoy's blood on Ron's face, because at that moment she leaped up, her eyes wide.

" Ron, are you alright?"

" S'not mine." Ron assured her, smiling weakly as he sat down.

" Well then whose...?" Hermione began again, but then she stopped, and her eyes narrowed. " _Malfoy_."

" He called you a Mudblood." Harry explained. " And..."

" Harry." Ron interrupted. He was staring out the window, looking very troubled.

" Yeah?" Harry replied, beginning to grow calm at last.

" Harry, what Malfoy said...about you and Ginny...at the end of last term...was that true?" Ron fidgeted awkwardly. " Were you and Ginny...you know..._together?_"

Harry took a deep breath.

" No. We're just friends_._" _Good friends. She's a good friend...I might even want to kiss her..._

" Oh." Ron mumbled. " Okay. Well, I just thought you should know...you're a lot better than...than Michael Corner or whatever his name was that she dated last year."

Harry chose not to dwell on Ron's empty words. Instead he turned to face Hermione, who was looking both left out and slightly smug.

" Hermione, Malfoy knows where Ginny is." Harry told her, feeling it was better to simply say it up front.

The superior looked vanished in a heartbeat; Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth.

" _What? _Are you _sure?"_

" He all but said it outright." Ron confirmed, forgetting, for a moment, about the matter of Harry and Ginny. " He said V-V—You-Know-Who had stuff in store for her and that she...she was..."

He turned away form them again, unable to say the words.

" Not...not _dead_?" Hermione whispered, looking horror-struck.

Harry nodded grimly.

" Oh...oh no..." Hermione breathed, collapsing onto her seat as though her legs would no longer support her weight. " Oh, no, I thought..."

" She's not dead." Harry said firmly, eager to convince himself as well as his friends. " Sh-She can't be..."

And with that, Harry closed his eyes and plunged himself deep into the realms of possibility...pushing himself farther, harder than he had ever done...

Lights flickered on the edges of his vision; something tattered, misty, drifted in and out of his sight; he was coming near it, coming near to the passing—his mouth opened, and a high, cold laugh burned up from his throat—he passed through that thing, that useless resistance, and all was suddenly icy and terrible, a searing pain...and someone was screaming, someone besides himself...someone who was clearly in agony...

" _Harry!_"

He had fallen to his knees on the compartment floor, his hands pressed against his scar, pulling himself out of Voldemort's mind on the verge of breaking; Ron and Hermione were kneeling beside him, Ron supporting him with his arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry heard his own fast, harsh breathing.

" Did you see—?" Ron asked, and despite the panic, his voice was hopeful, desperate even.

" Nothing." Harry panted. " He wasn't...anywhere near her..."

" Harry, you _must _stop this nonsense, it isn't good for you, forcing yourself into Voldemort's mind...what if he takes control of you again, you _told _us what happened at the end of last term..."

" Hermione, I've got to keep looking, I'll never know what he wants if I don't..."

The compartment door banged open; Harry lurched at once, unsteadily, to his feet, Ron and Hermione beside him, as two people entered, both already dressed in their Hogwarts robes and smiling widely.

" Harry, Ron, Hermione!" Neville hugged them each in turn. " I missed you guys, I had such a great summer though, but it's good to be back!" Neville looked round at them all—Ron and Hermione looking anxious, Harry with his face streaked in sweat, rubbing his scar—and his grin slipped an infinitesimal amount. " Are you three alright?"

" Wrackspurt got your tongue?"

" Hello, Luna." Harry couldn't resist a smile as Luna drifted dreamily from around Neville, looking all three of them up and down with her wide, luminous eyes.

" Hello, Harry." Luna replied vaguely. " Did you like your birthday present?"

" Er, yeah, I...it was really...nice." Harry, who had not so much as cracked the book since first laying eyes on it, made an attempt to return Luna's serene smile, and failed. Looking unperturbed, Luna seated herself on one of the abandoned benches and withdrew something from the front of her robes.

Harry was expecting to see a copy of_ The_ _Quibbler,_ or a Blibbering Humdinger (assuming they truly existed), or some other sort of strange thing. What he had not expected was the normalcy of the tiny thing Luna clutched to her chest.

" Look!" She said, her eyes brighter, more focused than usual. " Daddy bought me a present over the summer...she's absolutely adorable...look, see?"

Hermione's jaw dropped.

A tiny, palm-sized kitten was curled up in Luna's hand, fast asleep.

" Er...cute." Ron coughed.

" It kind of _is_, isn't it?" Neville said fondly. " She's been toting it around all day, you should see, it's even smaller than Trevor."

Crookshanks, his ugly squashed face further wrinkled with interest, hopped into Luna's lap for a closer look. Hermione, her aversion to Luna's unprecedented view of the world seemingly forgotten, sat beside her and asked her about her summer. It seemed to Harry that she was trying to dispel the awkwardness that his own actions and the fear for Ginny had brought about.

" So, Harry!" Neville, more cheerful by far than Harry had seen him in a long time, sat on the edge of the bench and smiled up at the immobile Harry and Ron, both standing at his side. " Going to continue D.A. lessons this year?"

" Maybe." Harry shrugged.

" I hope so, I've already had a few people ask me if I knew anything." Neville replied offhandedly.

" I imagine it will be very hard for you to run things again, Harry, missing Ginny the way you are. I'm missing her too, of course, she was my first real friend." Luna stated baldly. " But you'll find a way. After all, you always do."

" I...I s'pose." Harry said, taken aback by her blatant honesty.

" Yeah, and besides, that fight in the Department of Mysteries got me thinking...we really _do _need to be ready for what's out there." Neville said sagely. " I mean, we'd all have been in really serious trouble if you hadn't taught us all that stuff before the fight, Harry..."

" Right." Harry replied distractedly. He was just remembering, as Neville spoke, something he had all but forgotten in the last month; the recent meeting of the Order, which had been so chaotic, had centered around a discussion involving a...rallying point. Something the Death Eaters had seen, but had not comprehended.

The need to be alone with Ron and Hermione was suddenly stifling; Harry straightened and cleared his throat.

" Neville, Luna, could you give us a minute, please?"

Neville looked confused, but Luna got to her feet at once, and grabbed his hand, pulling him, with some effort, to his feet.

" Come on, Neville, I need to feed Jimari, and Harry needs a moment to talk about things with his friends." She smiled widely at Harry to show that she still thought Neville and herself his friends as well, and then she towed Neville from the room.

" What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, swiveling around in her seat. Crookshanks, purring, scrambled up to drape around her neck like a furry towel.

" How much did you and Ron hear of the Order's meeting?" Harry asked, with a quick look over his shoulder at the compartment door.

" Most of it." Hermione looked uncertainly at Ron, who seemed not to be concentrating on the topic at hand, but was rather staring out the window again, his face deeply lined with emotion. " Is this about...about what Mr. Weasley said? About there being something in the Department of Mysteries that still needs guarding?"

Ron looked round at this, his eyes suddenly focused, and wide.

" What? You mean something other than the prophecy?" He demanded.

" Yes, Ronald, do try and keep up." Hermione replied impatiently. " It sounds as though your father and brothers are guarding something, and that could be why V-Voldemort is targeting your family."

" Who says we're being targeted?" Ron's voice was unexpectedly harsh. " Maybe we've just got really rotten luck. I mean, what Death Eater _wouldn't _want to take out one of the traitorous, bad-blood _Weasleys_?" Hermione flinched away from Ron's scornful voice, and Harry felt anger blistering against his insides.

" Calm down, Ron." He said.

" Calm down?" Ron echoed sharply, rounding on Harry with steely eyes. " My sister's _dead_, Harry. You might not give a damn, but I..."

" I care." Harry replied, just as bracingly. " I care a lot! But we don't _know _Ginny's dead, Ron, Malfoy might have just been having a laugh."

" Who's laughing?" Ron muttered, but he deflated as he said it, and went to sit, slumped, against the window. With a frightened look at Harry, Hermione hurried to join him. Harry turned away as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and he knew that the conversation, for now, would be postponed.

Neville and Luna rejoined them with a promptness that made Harry wonder if they had been listening in at the door. They didn't mention it, however, and neither did he. And for the next several hours they made believe that all was normal...and, after numerous games of Exploding Snap and countless Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, and the new Cherry Cobbler Chews bought off the food-trolley, things might as well have been. Only the gaping black hole of unhappiness in Harry's heart reminded him that something in his life was terribly amiss.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione changed into their robes half an hour out, and then they, Luna, and Neville lounged across the seats, watching as Crookshanks and Jimari—who was small enough to have fit in Crookshanks's mouth—batted around the pieces of Ron's wizard-chess set. Hedwig and Pigwidgeon were sleeping soundly in their cages, and the compartment was filled to the brim with the lazy breaths of its inhabitants.

Harry, sprawled on his stomach with his head in his hands, watched from the corner of his eye as Luna leaned her head against Neville's chest while reading _The Quibbler_, which made the portly boy looked extremely nervous. Ron and Hermione were talking in low voices, their heads bent close together. Harry felt very isolated from them, and he buried his face in his arms, sighing.

When he closed his eyes, however, disturbing images rose up behind his lids; the large, angry red _W _branded on Lupin's arm, the sight of Malfoy's sneering face, close enough to break, and the strange peripheral peek he had gotten into Voldemort's head, which showed little and proved even less...

All of his happiness over his regained status of goodwill with Sirius had been snuffed, like a wetted candle, in light of Lupin's revelation and Malfoy's taunts. An empty, hollow abyss ached in Harry's gut when he looked around and saw these four—Ron and Hermione, Neville and Luna—who were his dearest friends...and knew that they—five with himself included—should be six.

But Ginny was gone; neither Neville nor Luna had mentioned her in the past few hours, but Harry knew the questions were there...for Neville especially, who had taken Ginny to the Yule Ball two years previously and with whom he was very close friends. But they had the discretion not to broach the subject, and Harry was in no mood to discuss it...not only for the sake of his own sanity, but for Ron, who was looking very red-eyed and was constantly excusing himself to go sit alone by the window...

Harry sighed, rolled over onto his back, and thrust his hand deep into the pocket of the jeans he wore beneath his robes; he pulled out the bracelet that had been his birthday gift, and slipped it over his wrist, hoping it might somehow strengthen, not his connection to her, but his tie to Voldemort...

But when Harry closed his eyes and attempted to force his way along the connection, into Voldemort's mind, he saw nothing beyond that vague, swirling, smoky mist and the flickers of something on the corners that had changed from floaty gray to solid obsidian...

" Harry!"

Harry's eyes flew open.

The train had obviously stopped; Neville was bending over him, shaking his shoulder forcefully.

" Harry, come on, the train's stopped, we're here..."

Harry rolled from the seat, stretched, and said a quick goodbye to Hedwig before he followed Neville out into the packed corridor.

Even now, it surprised Harry how much people from the other Houses seemed to like him; members of the D.A., from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as well as Gryffindor, called out to him from compartments and all along the walls, their voices excited, friendly.

" Hiya, Harry!"

" Alright, Potter?"

" Did you have a good summer?"

And then, noticing who he was with, the voices swelled even further.

" Neville!"

" Hey, Neville!"

" See you guys in the Great Hall!"

" You know," Neville began, round face shining as he and Harry detached themselves from the crowd in search of an empty carriage to ride up the castle, " I think we found the key to unlocking the inter-House rivalry!"

" Huh?" Harry, whose mind had been wandering as he searched the sea of people for Ron and Hermione, looked around at him. " What?"

" The D.A.!" Neville want on joyfully. " I've never had this many friends before, and...look, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are all getting along really well...it's a perfect solution!"

" I'll think about it." Harry replied dryly, knowing that Neville was trying, rather transparently, to convince him to recommence the training sessions. " Let's just find the others right now, I'm starv—"

" Harry!"

Harry's head swiveled the other way.

Hagrid was standing just over knee-high in a sea of nervous-looking first years, beaming in their direction, lifting one enormous hand to wave.

" Alrigh', Harry, Neville?"

" Great, Hagrid!" Harry replied, but he was thinking fast; suddenly, he very much wanted to tell an adult...someone besides Dumbledore, who might chastise him for turning back time in the first place, or Sirius, who would become even more guilt-stricken if he knew—that Ginny might be dead. " Hey, can I come by your place later, Hagrid?"

Hagrid looked rather taken back, and he frowned, but nodded. Relieved, Harry nudged Neville, who had stopped to wave enthusiastically to Hagrid, and they hurried to lay claim to one of the only carriages left.

They were not the first ones inside; Draco Malfoy, his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, and, to Harry surprise, Cho Chang, were all sitting inside, and as far from one another as they could. Harry, upon seeing Malfoy, had the instant urge to find another carriage, but Cho shot him a pleading look the moment he opened the door, and Harry, deciding it would be unfair to leave her to face Malfoy and his friends by herself, pulled himself into the carriage and threw himself down on the seat. Neville, with utmost reluctance, followed his lead.

" Well, well. Longbottom." Malfoy sneered. " Looks like you've lost a little weight...Lord knows you need it. But look at the state of you...secondhand robes and that old stupid expression, you're almost as bad as those blood-traitor Weasleys, my father always said the Longbottoms ran in the same vein with them..."

Harry, who had expected Neville to cower away and grow tongue-tied, was shocked when he drew himself upright, met Malfoy's cold gray stare (though he trembled slightly while doing so) and said, in a level voice that was barely his, " At least I have a father I can be proud of, M-Malfoy. Lots better than a dad who's a Death Eater and kidnaps innocent people just to p-prove a point."

Draco's jaw actually unhinged a slight bit; he snapped it shut almost at once, then shook his head.

" It stinks of dirty blood in here, boys. Let's find another carriage."

He left, Crabbe and Goyle in tow, but made a point of treading on Neville's foot as he passed. Neville yelped slightly, then muttered under his breath, " I'm not scared of you, Malfoy..."

" Well done, Neville!" Harry congratulated the moment Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were out of earshot. The display of Neville's courage had made him feel infinitely better. " You showed him!"

" Not really." Neville mumbled, but he looked pleased, and as his eyes glossed over, Harry knew he was reliving the moment.

" How was your summer, Harry?" Cho asked tentatively, after a short pause.

" It was..." Harry hesitated, reflecting on it all; the distance from his friends, the sleeplessness, Voldemort's attack at the Dursleys', his rift with Sirius, his birthday, which Cho had not attended... " Interesting." He concluded wryly. " How about you?"

" It wasn't bad." Cho replied quietly. " The Ministry is threatening to dismiss my Mum, but otherwise, it was fine."

" Great." Harry said, and then, leaning closer to her, he added, " Listen. About last year...can we just put the whole thing behind us? Forget about it?"

Cho looked distinctly relieved.

" Oh, yes, I'd like that a lot." She assured him.

" Great." Harry sat back again, relieved. " So, er...friends?" He stuck out his hand awkwardly.

" Of course." Cho warmly at him, and sheepishly shook his hand. Harry was surprised that this brief exchange did not make him feel like a part of him was dying...even though he had slavered after Cho for two long years.

They were joined, after a short while, by Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff and his girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, and within the swirling conversation of summer ventures all else was lost. Neville regaled them with tales of American Wizards and vampires from the north, and Harry laughed with the rest of them and tried to forget about his worries.

The carriages trundled up the drive, and Harry leaned around Cho to get a good look at Hogwarts castle.

It looked just the same as always, with its high towers and lit windows and the stone walls that hid so many wonders and secrets. Harry felt a great sense of homecoming sweeping through him, so great and potent that he could hardly contain it.

The carriage stopped outside the flagged stone steps leading up the front door; there Harry met Ron and Hermione, who were silent and looking away from each other. Harry couldn't guess as to the source of their obvious division—he only noted that none of the classic signs of a row between them were present, and that that, at least, was a blessing.

They entered the foyer side-by-side, Harry craning his neck dizzyingly far to stare at the high ceiling, to take in the walls lit by the candelabras on their flanks. Hermione had turned and immersed herself in conversation with Neville, interrogating him about his trip to America, as Harry, Ron, Luna, and Cho made their way through the large doors that led to the Great Hall.

" Goodbye, you three." Luna said vaguely, and she embraced them all before moving slowly off to the Ravenclaw House table. Cho smiled at Harry hesitantly, waved to Ron, Hermione, and Neville, and hurried off after Luna. Harry and the others found their seats at the Gryffindor table, and were overwhelmed by many greetings and questions about their summer holidays, so much so that Harry didn't notice immediately the gaping absence of the seventh year Gryffindors that had moved on...particularly Fred and George Weasley, their best friend, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and, of course, Ginny, who had not left of her own accord.

" Hey!" Harry said suddenly, an unexpected thought occurring to him." Who's the new Quidditch captain this year?"

" What?" Ron looked at him, shocked. " Blimey, Harry, _you are!_"

" I—I'm _WHAT_?!" Harry exclaimed, loudly enough that half of the Gryffindors turned to stare curiously at him. He dropped his head—and his voice—and hissed, " I _can't _be, what the hell—?"

" Yeah, it was in with your O.W.L. letter, you must've seen..." Ron blinked at him, looking stunned. " You didn't _see _it?"

" No, I just gave your mum my school list and didn't think about it!" Harry looked around wildly. " How did _you _know?"

" Saw the note from McGonagall in the trash." Ron explained. " Figured you'd already read it and chucked it after you did..."

Harry put his head down on the table and groaned, causing Hermione to look around, clearly alarmed by the sound.

" Harry...?"

The swift shuddering sigh of the Hall doors opening cut Hermione off mid-word; as one, all of the heads in the Hall turned, including Harry's, which he lifted with some effort from the table.

Professor Dumbledore, looking not a single iota different from the night of Harry's party, strode between the House tables, smiling at them all, then took his seat at the Stafff table, in the Headmaster's chair. He beamed around at them all, then caught Harry's eye and winked. Harry, though he was currently being overwhelmed by a fierce bout of panic regarding this revelation about his status as Quidditch captain, nodded and smiled in return.

Again, the doors behind them opened, though much more loudly this time; again, the heads turned, this time to take in the long line of first years entering, led by Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of the school and Harry's own head of House, who was decked out in a bottle-green robe and was carrying in her arms the school Sorting Hat, a patched, frayed old cap with a tear near the brim like a mouth. Harry smiled at the unseeing thing, and he fancied it smiled back.

The whole of the Hall fell silent as Professor McGonagall placed the hat on a small stool, stepped back, and drew a faded roll of parchment from her pocket. She held it loosely in one hand, and gestured warningly as a humming of anxiety passed through the long line of first years.

The Sorting Hat remained still for a moment; then it shifted as though jolted. The mouth-like gash opened wide, and, without any ado whatsoever, the hat began to sing:

" _Once upon a time_

_In lands far gone_

_In tales turned lies_

_In wizard jargon_

_There were two men_

_Two women, too_

_Who sought to build_

_A sacred school_

_They sorcerer four_

_A House for each_

_Beyond the walls _

_That none could breach_

_They came so long_

_Before your time_

_And their task of Sorting_

_Has now become mine_

_So place your faith in more than a whim_

_And find refuge beneath my brim_

_I'll think quite hard, and then I'll tell_

_In which House you now shall dwell._

_Perhaps you'll be in Gryffindor_

_House of lion and of sword_

_Where hearts are true and evil is scorned_

_Perhaps you'll find your courage there_

_Mayhap you'll be in Ravenclaw_

_Where founders four, in foresight saw_

_To wear your wisdom as a shawl_

_And crown upon your hair_

_Maybe you'll be in Slytherin_

_With cunning skill and drive to win_

_Whether heart be right or heart be wrong_

_Will never lay to bend_

_Or might you be in Hufflepuff?_

_Whose loyalty is never bluff_

_Who stand for right, and friends above_

_Until whatever end_

_These four names I give to you,_

_If you sit then I will choose_

_I'm never wrong, I shan't be thwarted_

_Come here now, and you'll be Sorted!"_

Scattered applause broke out through the hall, and Harry joined in with the rest. He had to admit, the new Sorting song was catchy, and reassuring besides; he could see that several of the first years looked notably less anxious as Professor McGonagall unraveled her parchment with a flourish and called the first name:

" Axehead, Tyler!"

Harry settled back on the bench to wait, watching as the long line of first years moved, one-by-one, to the Sorting Hat. Harry clapped loudly as the first new Gryffindor—Amelia Codsworth—joined their table, and he saw Hermione lean across the table to welcome the young girl to Gryffindor House.

The line continued to file slowly along; Harry's empty stomach growled audibly, which made Ron laugh into his hand. Feeling slightly drowsy, Harry was beginning to let his mind drift when, at last, Professor McGonagall reached the end of the list.

" Wanderer, Demetri!"

When Demetri had been Sorted—"SLYTHERIN!" The Sorting Hat cried with barely a pause—the Hat was taken away, and the plates before them all filled magically with food. Harry and Ron attacked their steak-and-kidney pie with a sort of vigor that was almost unbecoming of them, and Hermione gave them both very disparaging looks before she, too, helped herself to dinner.

The Hall was filled with the clattering of utensils, the talk and laughter of the students, the sound of wind rushing against the windows. It was a very warm, welcoming scene, and Harry felt he had missed it more than anything else in the world.

When the last plate had been licked clean of dessert—Harry thinking to himself that he would never eat another bite of treacle tart as long as he lived—Dumbledore got to his feet, and at once the Hall fell into silence.

" My dear students and teachers, caretakers and ghosts, magical creatures and all others so present," Dumbledore began, his twinkling blue eyes sweeping over them all affectionately, " Welcome. Welcome back to our beloved castle, and welcome to another year at Hogwarts!"

Great cheering erupted from each of the House tables at this, accompanied by much banging of fists. Seamus and Dean whooped loudly.

Dumbledore allowed the students to frenzy about for a bit, and then he lifted his hands in a calming motion, and the clamor died away.

" A good deal has happened since we last saw each other," Dumbledore went on, his voice a token sharper. " As such, and with precaution always heavily leaden on the mind, I must inform you of several new school rules.

" Firstly—and though it is not a new rule, it is nevertheless an important one—no students shall venture into the Forbidden Forest unaccompanied by a teacher. Anyone found doing so will be given a month's worth of detentions and will face suspension."

A murmur if disbelief broke out amongst the students; clearly, some thought this punishment far too strict.

" Second," Dumbledore continued, and the mutinous whispers died away. " There will be guards posted at varying intervals and at various locations throughout the grounds, Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts itself. I ask that you please do not disturb them—do not attempt to hex them, as I know some of you would enjoy doing—do not attempt to impair them in any way. I know several of them are extremely accomplished at the Bat-Bogey Hex."

Harry was briefly distracted by the amusing mental picture of Mad-Eye Moody making someone sprout bats from their nose, and by the time he had surfaced from the entertaining thought, Dumbledore had began to state the third rule.

" Thirdly, any student found in possession of any sort of Dark object will face immediate expulsion."

Harry's mind instantly leaped to the Marauder's Map, though of course it was an innocent enough thing, designed by his father, Sirius, Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew during their school days. Harry could see that several other people were looking extremely worried, and one Ravenclaw leaned forward and hissed to his friend, in a carrying voice, " We should ask them to define _Dark objects_..."

Dumbledore smiled down at them all, and Harry wondered if he was the only one to notice how suddenly tight Dumbledore's face had become, the warmth leaving his eyes by the slightest degree.

" And lastly, the greatest of changes which, I must admit, I neither support nor feel is in any way necessary..." His eyes swung round to lock with Harry's, who felt suddenly as though he did not want to hear Dumbledore's words in the least, " Your Professors...as well as myself...have been given permission to take extreme disciplinary measures on any and all wrongdoers in this school, should the time call for it. This includes—but is not limited to—the most medieval forms of torture."

Harry heard several students gasp; Hermione and Ron, who already knew of this from Hagrid, exchanged quick, grim looks. Katie Bell, the only member left besides Harry of their original Quidditch team, covered her mouth with both hands. All up and down the hall, cries of negation and fear erupted.

_Don't they know the Professors better than that? _Harry wondered, and his eyes strayed toward Amelia Codsworth, who was looking extremely frightened and tearful; Parvati Patil was trying in vain to console her.

" Understand this." Dumbledore said, his voice carrying over them all like a healing balm that quieted the fearful tones, " Faith is a great ally in dark times...faith in yourself, and those around you. Not all is as hopeless as it may seem.

" And now," Dumbledore went on as the shocked murmurings died away completely, " On to the final announcement of our prestigious night. It is my pleasure to introduce to you your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher...Aldous Gareth."

Harry felt his awareness ratchet up several notches; until now, he had not—as he did most years—looked at the Staff table before all else, and as he turned now to gaze upon it, he noticed a definite air of tension binding all of the teachers together.

One Professor was standing while the rest were seated; Harry's eyes swept over those he knew very well—Snape and McGonagall, Flitwick and Vector, Sprout and Hagrid—and then settled on the man who was standing, surveying them all with very cold eyes. His hair was rather short and was a deep russet shade; his eyes, so blue they were nearly silver, swept over the Great Hall in a measured stare, then settled on Dumbledore.

" Thank you, Albert." He said stiffly.

" Listen to that bloke!" Ron hissed into Harry's ear. " Doesn't even know Dumbledore's name!"

" I think he's just putting on a show." Harry replied softly. " I mean, who _doesn't _know Dumbledore's name?"

Dumbledore took Aldous's jibe in stride, merely nodding so that his hat bounced jauntily. He then turned back to the students and spread his arms wide, as though he would embrace them all.

" And now, my dear students, it is off to bed, for tomorrow we once again immerse ourselves in that greatest and most noble of undertakings—learning! Off you go!"

As one, the benches scooted back from the tables. Remembering his earlier words to Hagrid, Harry climbed to his feet instantly and made toward the Staff table—only to see Hagrid shaking his great bearded head frantically, nodding aside to Aldous.

Harry—confused, but compliant—reasoned that Hagrid did not want to get on Aldous's bad side so early on in term by luring a student out of bounds after dark, and risk getting sacked for the second year in a row. Nodding to show his agreement, Harry turned and rejoined the tide of students swarming from the room; Ron and Hermione, as Prefects, had gone on ahead to direct the first years, and Harry found himself walking with Dean, Seamus, and Neville, who were discussing Aldous in hushed tones.

" Rude bloke, if you ask me...oh, hi, Harry." Dean said as Harry fell into step with them. Then he went on, " He obviously said Professor Dumbledore's name wrong on purpose..."

" Me mam says the Ministry's gone too far, passing off their people as teachers." Seamus agreed, looking thoroughly troubled. " She says it's Dumbledore's job to appoint Professors, not Finch's..."

" Yeah, but since when has the Ministry ever had respect for anyone they can't control?" Neville asked, sounding discouraged.

" Dumbledore will draw a line somewhere." Harry stated, feeling the conviction in his heart burning through him from the inside out. " Sometime soon, Finch is going to cross a line, and Dumbledore'll put his foot down, and then...well, he's not the only wizard Voldemort ever feared for nothing..."

Dean, Seamus, and Neville chortled appreciatively, and the conversation turned to speculation about what Defense classes would be like this year with Aldous for a teacher; none of them mentioned the D.A., for which Harry was grateful. He was suddenly very tired and in no mood whatsoever to think about such things.

He reunited with Ron and Hermione outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, where Hermione gave the password—"Brevis Fabula"—to the first years, bade them memorize it, and then let them through. The rest of the Gryffindors filed past them, and then Harry led the way into the common room.

A blast of heat from the fire swarmed across his face like a gentle touch; Harry squinted against the bright glow and saw friends, reunited, saying goodnight, beside the chintz armchairs, hugging one another beneath the tall windows, laughing as they went their separate ways. Thinking longingly of his bed, Harry nudged Ron.

" C'mon, let's get upstairs, I'm beat."

" I...okay." Ron mumbled. " Just a minute..."

He was staring at Hermione and seemed to be debating something very difficult.

" Goodnight, Ron." Hermione said softly, not meeting his eyes.

" Y-yeah." Ron stammered. And then, seeming to make up his mind about something, he stepped forward and quickly wrapped Hermione in a hug.

Harry, feeling like an intruder on something very private, pointedly looked away.

After several moments, Ron stepped back again, his neck flushed, and then he turned and hurried up the stairs to the dormitories. Hermione swayed, looking slightly punch-drunk, and Harry couldn't help but feel amused despite the part of him that wished he could share a bit of whatever Ron and Hermione had...

" Well, that's..." Hermione murmured, her eyes slightly unfocused. " That's that, I suppose. Goodnight, Harry..."

She hurried toward him, hugged him quickly, then retreated. Harry watched her go, still smiling slightly, and then he hastened upstairs.

Ron was already in bed when Harry arrived, and they did not speak; Harry changed into his pajamas as quickly as he could—grateful that his robe sleeve had concealed his armlet from prying eyes—and then placed his glasses on the bedside table and laid down, watching the shadows drifting beyond the bed hangings.

Several silent moments passed; then Ron spoke sleepily from across the room.

" Harry..."

" Yeah?"

He could hear the smile in Ron's voice.

" Welcome home."

The bracelet gave a fresh pulse of warmth against his wrist, and in the darkness, Harry grinned.

" No place else I'd rather be."


	13. Practicality And Protection

_Author's Notes: For anyone who is wondering...there's a reason they have a jerk psycho teaching DADA. ;) _

* * *

Chapter XIII: Practicality and Protection

* * *

The mood was festive over breakfast the following morning; Harry, having given himself ample time that morning to come to grips with his new and unexpected status as Quidditch captain, was already beginning to plan tryouts and practices, which put him in an extremely good mood—which was only heightened by the fact that Ron and Hermione seemed to be getting along better than they ever had. Harry suspected this had a great deal to do with the unanticipated hug the night before. In either case, he was quietly amused when Ron saved Hermione a seat at breakfast, but he chose not to comment. Instead he busied himself with pushing his armlet as high on his wrist as he could, and then he helped himself to a plate of eggs.

" So...did you both sleep well?" Hermione asked conversationally as she slathered a piece of toast with marmalade jam.

" Best I've slept in a month." Ron admitted, stuffing a whole sausage in his mouth. " Smells better up there than at Grimmauld, for one thing, and you don't have people coming in and out at all odd hours..."

" Please." Hermione rolled her eyes. " _You _could sleep through _anything_."

" Except for that one night after my birthday when George levitated that bucket of ice water over his head." Harry reminded them both, grinning. " The look on your face..."

" Yeah, yeah, sod off." Ron muttered, looking embarrassed.

" Oh...that scream was _you_?" Hermione looked politely interested; Harry hid his laughter in a cough and poured himself a goblet of pumpkin juice.

They had scarcely finished eating when Professor McGonagall began to move along the table, handing out their schedules. Harry took his, with some apprehension, having already spent half the morning wondering how classes would interfere with Quidditch practice...especially now they were N.E.W.T grade students.

" Oh, effing brilliant." Ron groaned. " We've got Gareth first thing after lunch...but, hey, we get a free period after that!"

" During which we will be in the _library_." Hermione reminded him sternly, her brow furrowed. " Trying to find something to cure Fred."

" Right." Ron looked embarrassed again, and he dove back down to his schedule again. " Let's see...I'm not taking Potions this year, are you, Harry?"

" Er...no." Harry replied distractedly. He was scanning the list of his classes carefully, searching..." There's nothing on here about Dumbledore wanting to meet with me." He said at last, disappointed.

" Well of course, I highly doubt that's something they'll want everyone to know, Harry." Hermione pointed out loftily, studying her own schedule religiously. " You two have finally given up Divination, haven't you?"

" Yep." Ron confirmed happily. " So, let's see...Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Transfiguration, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures...blimey, I wanted to drop that, but Hagrid'd blow a nut if we did...and Charms. Not a bad schedule for sixth year, we'll have a lot of free time to practice Quidditch and...do other stuff." Ron amended, as Hermione looked at him furiously.

Harry sighed, rolled up his schedule and stuffed it into his bag. He got to his feet with a stretch, and Ron and Hermione rose beside him, looking very tired indeed.

" History of Magic first thing." Ron pointed out as he scanned his schedule again. " Excellent, it's double, I can have another hour and a half of sleep..."

Hermione shot him an exasperated, disparaging look, which Ron dutifully ignored upon glancing up from the parchment in his hand. They all three exchanged long looks, and then Harry, with a shrug and a slight smile, said, " Well...here we go again."

They walked to the History of Magic classroom together, wondering aloud what more Professor Binns—the only ghost professor in the school, and, perhaps by consequence, the most boring—could possibly have in store for them this term.

The answer was presented when they arrived, and no sooner having taken their seats, than Professor Binns drifted through the chalkboard and set them all to reading about the giant wars, a subject they had already covered but which the Professor seemed to think needed rehashing.

Within five minutes, Ron was staring out the window in a stupor, drooling slightly. Dean had put his head down on his desk, and Seamus was bewitching a quill to write messages to Lavender Brown in the row ahead of him, who was giggling into her hand. Harry, sitting with chin in hand, was thinking of Quidditch practices and who he might hand-pick for the team. Ron was a given, of course, and Katie Bell...but who else?

Hermione alone seemed to be concentrating; she was staring at Professor Binns with narrowed eyes as he read aloud the text from their course-book, and every few minutes she scribbled something down very quickly in the margin of her book, then looked back up almost at once.

The class dragged by; when the loud, chiming bell signaled its end, Harry had to shake Ron forcefully awake, as he had nodded off completely, head to his chest, and took a rather long time to come around.

" Whazzit?" He mumbled when Harry took to whacking him about the head with his book. " Hey, geroff...where are we? Oh."

Ron hurried to gather up his bag, and when he and Harry caught up with Hermione—who was by now halfway across the classroom—Harry recognized the steely glint in her eye.

" Library?" He asked, amused.

" First chance I get." Hermione confirmed.

" Well, guess we'll see _you _next semester, then." Ron grumbled. Hermione shot him a withering look.

" Oh, I _do _wish the two of you would pay attention in class." She sighed. " In case you didn't notice, Professor Binns mentioned a bit about the giants siding with—with _You-Know-Who _in the first war." Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper.

" Yeah, so? We already knew that, Hermione." Harry pointed out, wondering why she seemed so fierce on the subject. " Everyone knows th—"

" And did you hear what else he said?" Hermione interrupted savagely. " He said You-Know-Who had _all manner of dark creatures_ under his command, and that the giants were _some _of the fiercest. But they couldn't have been the worst...not by far."

" They mentioned Voldemort by name?" Harry asked, surprised. He had never known any of the Professors, save for Dumbledore, to refer to Voldemort as anything beside the Dark Lord or _You-Know-Who_.

Of course, Professor Binns was already dead, what did he have to fear from saying the name?

" Well, no." Hermione shook her head, and her haughty tone returned. " But they mentioned the most terrible Dark Wizard to walk the earth. Who else could it be?"

" Grindewald." Ron put in as they entered the Charms classroom for another double lesson. " They say he was just as bad as You-Know-Who."

" But have you ever heard of Grindewald using giants in his conquest?" Hermione said coolly, clearly determined to prove her point.

" Well, no..." Ron began.

" Of course." Hermione rolled her eyes and took her seat near the front of the classroom. " You see? He _was _talking about You-Know-Who, and I'm going to find out who else he's got on his side."

" Good luck with that." Harry said to her on a low aside as tiny, excitable Professor Flitwick entered the room.

The class passed in a dizzy blur; Harry was delighted to find that he still had a knack for Charms, though of course Hermione beat them all out by a mile. As he watched his book running back and forth the length of his desk, steered by his upraised wand, Harry wondered why he had thought his skills—and this year—would be in any way changed, or in any way different from the previous term.

The answer came to him when Dean Thomas stopped him just outside the classroom, drawing him aside with an anxious frown.

" Listen, Harry, I know you probably don't want me hounding you, so I just wanted to ask this once...any word? Have you found Ginny?"

The black hole yawned wider in Harry's chest, and there was something poisonous on the edges, something to do with Dean's concern...

He shook his head.

" Nothing, Dean, sorry." He tried for an offhand tone, and just barely managed it. " I'll let you know, though, if we hear anything..."

" Right." Dean looked faintly embarrassed. " Well, that's...we're all trying, Harry, we are, but where else can we look?"

Harry let out a barely agreeable murmur, and Dean hurried away.

Lunch was a rather subdued affair; Ron and Harry groaned about the Charms homework they had been given, and Hermione, who had received none, turned down their pleas that she help them (in other words, do it for them). It was a discussion they had almost yearly, and Harry was not sure why he even bother to ask anymore...he only knew that he was going to be swamped and very busy this year.

" Hey, Harry!" Seamus called to him from down the table, jolting him from his thoughts. " When are you doing Quidditch tryouts?"

" Er...not sure yet." Harry replied. " Why?"

" Well, me and Dean want to try out, of course!" Seamus gestured to his best friend, grinning. Harry had to return the smile, and he felt considerably lighter as he attacked his pork sandwich. If Seamus and Dean were up to par and made the team, it would be a wonderful thing...having Ron, Katie, Seamus, and Dean would leave him only wanting in Beaters, and those were generally easy enough to come by...he need only find two people with very bad tempers and very good aims...

He was seized suddenly with the image of Mad-Eye Moody and Aletris trying to play beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, hitting everything in sight and possibly each other, and he laughed so loudly at the thought that half the Great Hall turned his way.

" If you don't want people thinking you're mad," Ron spoke from the corner of his mouth. " Then stop acting like a loony!"

Harry choked on his sandwich and forced a nod.

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Harry, Ron, and Hermione finished their lunch and made for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Dean and Seamus were passing a strange object back and forth as they walked, which Harry fancied looked like a firework; he wondered, idly, if they were considering taking after Fred and George, and, as the common phrase had become, were planning to "pull a Weasley" on their new teacher.

Neville looked very nervous as he fell into step with them on the way to the familiar classroom; his round face was bearing a slight sheen of sweat.

" I hope...I hope he's better than Umbridge." He whispered as they entered the chamber and found their seats; the Slytherins, with whom they shared the class, ignored them pointedly. " She was a mad witch..."

" And how _is _the old toad these days?" Ron asked idly as he charmed his quill to strut up and down the desk.

" I saw her in...in St. Mungo's." Neville said quickly, his voice trembling. " Sh-She was pretty...pretty crazy."

" Figures." Ron shrugged.

After several minutes, Harry, bored, pulled out his wand and set his quill to battling Ron's. Several nearby students, including Neville, laughed appreciatively, while Hermione dutifully ignored them, reviewing whatever she had written in her History of Magic book.

The door of the classroom shuddered open without warning, and Harry and Ron dropped their wands at once; the quills fell limp with a clatter. All heads turned toward the front of the room, and Hermione snapped her book shut, stowing it in her bag.

Aldous Gareth, wearing deep magenta robes and an even deeper frown, swept up the aisle to the front of the classroom. He stood behind the desk, leaning his palms against it, and fixed them all with an eerie silver-blue stare.

" Welcome, students, to your first lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts." His voice was cold, calm. " Allow me to make one thing very clear. It seems my predecessor, Dolores—while having a very insightful view of your instruction—went about it the wrong way. While strict, she was kind. She gave you the benefit of the doubt. I shall do _no such thing_."

Harry, who was trying his best to parallel the word 'kind' to Umbridge's sickly sweet persona, was pulled back to reality as Gareth glided along the edge of his desk and stood facing them unbarred, his face grim.

" For far too long, the teaching standards at Hogwarts have been lax. For far too long, the old customs have lain dormant. Understand this; I expect absolute and complete cooperation in my classroom. Should I receive anything less, the consequences will be quite severe...yes?"

For as he spoke, Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

" Sir, please define 'severe'." Hermione requested promptly.

Gareth stared at her; Ron shifted very slightly in his seat.

" What is your name?" Gareth asked, at length.

" Hermione Granger, sir."

" Muggle-born?" Gareth pressed.

" Yes." Hermione met his gaze unflinchingly.

" As I thought." Gareth snorted derisively. " But since you asked with raised hand, Granger, I shall tell you."

Gareth began to pace before them, his luminous eyes sweeping the room.

" As some of you have likely heard in your _History of Magic_ course, Hogwarts once condoned the ways of physical discipline in order to keep its students in line. These ways were abandoned when Albert..."

" _Albus_." Harry corrected under his breath.

"...Dumbledore became Headmaster. However, the Ministry sees fit that several of these old practices be reinstated. As the newest Hogwarts High Inquisitor, I will see to it that this school runs in an orderly fashion...that curfews are respected, Professors are given no cheek, and students do not act out of turn."

Harry could feel his dream of Hogwarts as it had once been—strict but forgiving, flourishing under the eye of the Headmaster and deputy Headmistress alone—vanishing like grains of sand pouring from between his fingertips.

" Now." Gareth continued. " I did not assign you your course books yet because alternately, between practical tests and studies, the best of you will be...ah..._coaching _the worst of you. Observe."

Gareth pulled a piece of parchment from the front of his robes and scanned it very carefully.

" Pansy Parkinson?"

The Slytherin girl—Malfoy's girlfriend, if Harry guessed correctly—raised her hand at once in what might have been a mockery of Hermione; several Slytherin students sniggered, and Gareth, with a patient smile, beckoned Pansy forward.

" It says here that you received only a P on your Defense O.W.L. Is that true?"

Pansy's lower lip jutted slightly; she nodded.

" Hmmm." Gareth consulted his list again. " Very well. Mister Malfoy."

Draco, lounging his seat with his head thrown back, smirked as he raised his hand.

" Present, Professor Gareth."

" I know your father." Gareth nodded to him. " Join us, Malfoy."

Harry resisted the urge to hex Malfoy from behind as he swaggered toward the front of the class.

" Parkinson." Gareth said, turning toward her again. " Are you at all accomplished in shield charms?"

" I-I suppose..." Pansy looked uncertain.

" We shall see." Gareth grunted. " Malfoy, I want you to Stun Miss Parkinson."

For the first time perhaps in his life, Harry saw a flicker of something like uncertainty cross Malfoy's pale face.

" Professor?"

" She'll never learn without motivation." Gareth replied impatiently. " Fear is the greatest motivation known to man, Muggle and wizard alike. Now, Draco, Stun her!"

Malfoy drew his wand very slowly, and turned to face Pansy. She was shaking her head frantically, and her eyes were very bright.

Malfoy's lips jerked in an almost-grimace as they moved; Pansy lifted her wand and cried out, but the jet of red light cut through her shield like a hot knife through butter; Pansy flew through the air, hit the far wall, and crumbled.

Several of her friends made to rise, to go to her aid, but Gareth shook his head.

" Leave her." He snapped, consulting his list again. " Thomas, Patil!"

Dean and Parvati exchanged anxious looks, then rose. Dean made a point to run into Malfoy as they passed in the aisle, but Malfoy, for once, did not retaliate. He looked thoroughly shaken.

" Mister Thomas." Gareth sneered. " A Half-blood." His eyes flickered to Parvati. " Miss Patil."

She barely inclined her head.

" Miss Patil, you will now attempt a Full-Body Bind curse on Mister Thomas. Thomas, you will attempt a shield charm. Let us hope, for your sake, that you are more accomplished at this than Parkinson."

Dean was quivering from head to foot; Parvati had tears streaming down her cheeks. It was very clear that she wanted nothing more than to flee the room.

" I'm sorry, Dean." She whispered. She raised her wand. " _Petrificus Totalus!"_

But Dean, unlike Pansy Parkinson, had been a member of the D.A. the previous year, in which they had spent several hours practicing the shield charm; adversely, Parvati had had much practice in the Petrifying curse, and thus their powers were nearly evenly matched. Harry could see Dean shaking with the force of holding the shield in place as Parvati's powerful curses pounded against it.

" Enough!" Gareth's cold voice rang out after several minutes, and Parvati dropped her wand at once. Dean sank to his knees, still shaking. " Much better than your forerunners, I must say. Now return to your seats."

Dean dragged himself to his feet and stumbled down the aisle. Seamus caught him round the chest and helped him to his seat. Parvati sank down beside Lavender Brown and buried her face in her hands.

Harry wondered, darkly, if this was Gareth's way of breaking the students to his will...forcing them to curse their friends. It was a disgusting exercise, and it took all of Harry's willpower not to storm from the classroom as he watched Crabbe and Goyle, the next called, Stun one another to opposite ends of the room, Crabbe landing atop Pansy as he fell.

A moment later, Harry wished he had left; Gareth looked down the list and called out, " Potter! Longbottom!"

Hermione reached around Ron to grip Harry's sleeve; her eyes were wide, furious tears brimming at the rims.

" Don't!" She whispered, but Harry pulled himself from her grasp and followed Neville down the aisle, his heart pounding in time to his rapid footfalls. He ached to flee, but he knew that Gareth would simply find someone else to duel Neville...someone who would not attempt mercy on him...

" Potter...well, well, _the _Harry Potter." Gareth murmured. He stepped closer to Harry, studying his scar. " I've heard quite a bit about you, Potter. I wonder...is the man of fame more famous than the legend?"

Several Slytherins laughed. Gareth smiled, a twisted, sick sort of leer, and then he stepped back. " Potter, you will attempt to Imperius Longbottom. Should you succeed, you will follow my further instructions as to what you shall make him do."

Harry saw, from the corner of his eye, Hermione's hand shooting into the air. It had barely fully extended when she cried, " Sir, that's illegal!"

Gareth's icy eyes swung very slowly round to Hermione. Harry felt a nervous tremor racking down his spine.

" I will decide what happens in my classroom, Miss Granger, not you." Gareth murmured. " Ten points from Gryffindor." He turned back. " Now, Potter. Longbottom. I'm waiting."

He stepped back to watch.

Harry and Neville squared up to one another, Neville mouthing Harry's name frantically, his eyes bulging. Harry's hand shook around his wand.

" Neville, I don't..."

Harry blinked, the inspiration coming to him suddenly.

He lifted his wand.

" _Imperio_!"

And then he added, under his breath, " _Protego_!"

The immense strain of channeling two spells at once nearly sent Harry to his knees; Neville's wand was raised, his lips moving soundlessly, and his eyes were fixed on Harry. He did not seem to know that the shield was not his own doing...

Harry could feel the strength draining from each of his limbs in turn. He was firing the Imperius curse over and over and holding the shield in place constantly. His shaking wand arm was numb...

" Enough!"

The shield dispelled the moment Gareth spoke; Harry collapsed before the class, breathing hard, his heart pounding.

" Clearly, you're unfamiliar with the proper use of Unforgivables. Most disappointing." Gareth shook his head, frowning. " Very well, Longbottom, Potter, return to your seats."

Harry's legs would not support his weight; he attempted to rise, but fell back, teeth gritted. The Slytherins chortled.

Harry felt Neville's hand on his arm, felt himself being pulled upright, but Gareth's dismissive voice froze Neville where he stood.

" Leave him. If he is too weak to bear the strain of the curse, he is not worth your time. Leave him."

Neville's anguished face was an inch from Harry's, and then it was gone; Harry fell back, and dragged himself closer to the Gryffindor desks in the front row as Gareth once again turned to his list.

" Zambini, Nott, front and center!"

Harry watched, pressed against the desk, the strength slowly returning to his body, as Theodore Nott and Blase Zambini of Slytherin were asked to perform the Imperius curse on one another; Nott won out, and the whole of the class watched in utter revulsion as Zambini's body was forced to contort into painful looking positions, at Gareth's command—until his arm snapped, and Nott, in shock, released him, and Zambini lay on the floor, clutching his arm and howling in pain.

" Leave him." Gareth said, though by instinct—knowing what would be said—Nott had already stepped over Zambini and had returned, ashen-faced, to his seat. Gareth's eyes swooped over the list, paying no mind to Zambini, who had staggered to his feet and moved off to collapse against the wall.

" Let's see, let's see...ah." His voice was very soft, almost vindictive, and Harry felt, suddenly, that he knew what was coming. " Weasley. Granger. To the front."

Harry's heart simply ceased to beat for a moment; he heaved himself to his feet and glanced round as Hermione got to her feet, looking quite pale. Ron was still seated, tight-lipped, glaring absolute murder at Gareth.

Hermione seized his arm and began to tug; Harry could not hear what she said, but he saw her lips moving, and, after a moment, Ron climbed slowly upright and followed her unwillingly down the aisle. Harry retreated several steps and collapsed onto the bench beside Parvati. She patted his hand sympathetically, but her eyes did not move from the front of the room, where Ron and Hermione were facing Gareth, both of them very stiff-backed, their limbs rigged.

" Miss Granger the Muggle-born and Mister Weasley the pure-blood." Gareth's tone was amused. " Similar marks, but it would seem Mister Weasley has a better knack for holding his tongue while in class."

Harry knew what was coming; he buried his face in his hands.

" Mister Weasley, you will perform the Cruciatus curse on Granger."

Almost as quickly as it had fallen, Harry's head snapped up; shocked cries of outrage rippled through the Gryffindor students. Even some of the Slytherins looked taken aback; Malfoy shook his head swiftly as though he couldn't believe what he had heard, and Nott let out an audible groan.

" What?!" Ron's voice was louder than the rest. " No...no way in hell!"

Gareth's eyes flashed dangerously; the whole of the class fell silent as one.

" What was that, Weasley?"

" I said, no way in hell!" Ron repeated forcefully. " Hermione's my friend, I'm not going to—!"

It was punishment for Hermione's outburst, and Harry knew it; still he could not restrain his own tongue.

" This is Professor Dumbledore's school!"

Heads turned his way, including Gareth's. Hermione was staring at Harry, her fingers pressed to her mouth.

" This is Dumbledore's school, you can't just go around torturing people!"

" Discipline, Potter, not torture. Fear _is _the best source of strength." Gareth said softly. " If you do not embrace this, you will be powerless in the future."

" What about loyalty?" Harry demanded, rising shakily to his feet. " Friendship? _Love_? What about having something to fight _for_? That's loads better than fighting against someone just because you're afraid you'll die!"

" There _is no better method_." Gareth cut across him sharply. " Sit down, Potter. You failed your test; if Miss Granger and Mister Weasley learned anything from watching your mediocre performance, they will be well suited to protecting themselves!"

" You call this practical?"

The voice that spoke was the last Harry had expected to hear; Malfoy was on his feet now as well, and he was staring at the Stunned forms of Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy with furious eyes.

" I thought we were meant to be studying this course, not cursing our friends!"

Harry could hardly comprehend it; somehow, unbelievably, in one matter at least, Draco Malfoy was his ally.

" _I_ set the course standard, Malfoy, not you." Gareth spat. " Now sit down the both of you, or it'll be detention in the most unpleasant sense."

Reluctantly, Harry collapsed into his seat; Malfoy followed suit, his face rigid. Harry felt willing to bet that Lucius Malfoy would be receiving a very demanding letter from his son quite soon.

" Very good." Gareth nodded. " Now, to business. Miss Granger, shielding, Mister Weasley, cursing. Let's have it."

Ron glowered at him furiously for a moment; then he turned, very slowly, to face Hermione. Cool logic seemed to have abandoned Hermione...she was staring at Ron with wide eyes, and she was trembling.

Harry felt the memory of the Cruciatus curse burning in his mind, his nerves aching with the remembered feeling of such unconquerable pain. His hands gripped the edge of the desk.

_I have to tell Dumbledore...he won't...he _can't _let him do this..._

Ron breathed very deeply, and raised his wand. Hermione did the same, her movements feeble with fear. Harry's heart clenched; the fear Gareth had expected to fuel them was doing the exact opposite. Hermione did not look brave enough to defend a matchbox, much less to construct a shield charm large enough to protect herself...

Harry's eyes closed of their own accord.

" _Protego!_"

" _Stupefy!_"

Harry's lids snapped upward.

Ron had whirled and pointed his wand at Gareth; the Professor deflected it with a flick of his wand as Hermione's weak shield charm flickered and died. She was staring at Ron, more horrified than she had been a moment before.

Harry understood why.

Gareth pushed away from his desk and came to stand before the fast-breathing Ron, his glinting eyes narrowed.

" So." He murmured. " _So_."

He reached out and seized the collar of Ron's robes.

" Attack a Professor, will you, Weasley? That's a detention right there...insubordination besides. Oh yes, I'll be seeing you tonight, Weasley."

He pushed Ron away from him forcefully.

" You will now proceed to write exactly what I tell you...three pages' worth." He snapped at the rest of the class. And with a wave of his wand, words began to appear on the chalkboard.

_Fear is the greatest defense._

Harry rose from the bench and hurried back to his seat; Ron and Hermione met him there. Ron was still shaking with rage, Hermione with fear, and they spoke not one word to each other throughout the whole class.

Harry was nearly blinded with anger, so much so that, by the time class ended, he still had two pages to go, which became his homework. He hurried from the room before he could dwell too long on the sight of Nott and Malfoy attempting to rouse their Stunned friends, while Parvati, under Gareth's orders, led a trembling Zambini to the hospital wing.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the classroom, Ron swore so loudly that several of the portraits along the walls gasped aloud, and he aimed a very hard kick at the nearest wall.

" Git!" He snarled venomously. " What's he on, trying to get us to curse each other?"

" You should've done it." Hermione said tremulously. " You should have done the curse...who knows what detention will be like with him."

" Couldn't." Ron muttered. " I couldn't do that..."

" I would have lived." Hermione pointed out breathlessly.

" I wouldn't've." Ron shook his head. " I'll never use an Unforgivable on a friend. Look at what happened to Zambini...and it's just sick, besides."

" He's not really all that different from Mad-Eye, though, is he?" Neville had fallen into step with them, still looking quite shaken. " I mean, he Imperiused us..."

" And made us jump on a desk." Ron interrupted. " Not wrap ourselves around until our arms broke."

" Good point." Neville shivered.

" Anyway." Ron went on. " Mad-Eye was a nutter, but he wanted us ready to face what's out there. That bloke in there...Gareth...he just wants to pit us against each other. And his theory's got more holes than a broken Bludger...I didn't feel better for being nervous, I felt like I was going to puke...Harry, where are you going?"

For Harry had just turned away from the corridor leading them to Gryffindor tower; he was still so angry he could hardly think straight.

" To see Dumbledore." Harry replied harshly. " First lesson, and he's making us curse each other. Dumbledore's got to stop him...he's the only one who can."

Ron and Hermione nodded, in clear agreement with him, and as Harry hurried away toward Dumbledore's office, he reflected that this was, undoubtedly, the worst first-day-of-term that he had in his life.

It was a terrible omen for the coming year.


	14. The Traitor

_Author's Notes: A little more Dark!Harry towards the end of this chapter. This is when stuff starts getting heavy. Ye be warned. _

* * *

Chapter XIV: The Traitor

* * *

Harry was still wrapped in a dense fog of anger, reliving each moment in the classroom as he walked the nearly-deserted corridor to Dumbledore's office. He could scarcely believe what had happened...it was as though it had been part of another's life, or else a nightmare. He had never seen a teacher so cruel...not even Snape could compare. Reflecting on the time in his first year when Snape had counter-cursed Harry's hexed broomstick, Harry had the distinct feeling Gareth would have let him be killed.

" Password?" The stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office demanded; Harry hitched his book-bag higher on his shoulder and stared at the gargoyle, his mind still racing.

" I don't know." He admitted at last.

" Don't know?" The gargoyle echoed disbelievingly. " You've come to see Dumbledore and you don't have a password?"

" No, I _don't know_!" Harry repeated loudly, drawing his wand. " Now let me in before I hex your face off!"

" Such violence!" The gargoyle rumbled silkily. " But I've faced worse than you before, little wizard..."

" I need to see Professor Dumbledore." Harry insisted, making a valiant attempt at keeping his voice reasonable. " It's really, really urgent..."

" Oh, urgent, is it?" The gargoyle murmured. " Why didn't you say so sooner? I'll let you right up."

Boy and statue were eye to eye for a moment.

" You're not letting me go up, are you?" Harry sighed.

" Of course not," The Gargoyle snapped briskly.

" Well, in that case..." Harry stepped back and aimed his wand. " _Redu_—"

" Better wizards than you have made very good attempts to decimate this statue, Harry. I'd daresay he's seen quite a lot in his days...and as you can plainly see, he is still, for the most part, unblemished."

Harry whirled on heel.

Dumbledore was standing behind him near the corridor wall, a slight smile playing on the edges of his lips. Feeling incredibly chastened—but not so much so that his anger was fully eradicated—Harry lowered his wand.

" Professor Dumbledore...sir, I need to talk to you." He began.

" As I can assume." Dumbledore interrupted mildly. " As you were going to hex my guardian for that very purpose. However, Harry, I would ask that you please accompany me to a more secure location to discuss the matter I am guessing has brought you here. Now, up to my office, if you please." And so saying, he brushed past Harry and said to the gargoyle statue, " Ariana."

The statue leaped aside, and Harry, wondering why, for once, the password was not a sweet's name, followed Dumbledore up the spiraling staircase to his office.

It looked utterly unchanged from his last visit at the end of the previous year; the only noticeable difference was that there were several maps of locations Harry could not distinguish spread across Dumbledore's desk. The headmaster waved his wand once and the maps vanished.

" Sit, Harry." Dumbledore offered, and Harry, feeling his anger beginning to ebb slightly, sank into his usual chair. " Now," Dumbledore went on kindly, seating himself across from Harry with the desk between them. " Let's have it."

" Sir, I think you need to sack your Defense teacher." Harry stated as calmly as he was able. Already he could feel the desperation burning at the endings of his nerves.

" Ah, yes, I quite thought this would be the matter you wished to speak to me about...though I had rather hoped it would not happen so soon." Dumbledore steepled his fingers and gazed at the ceiling, his blue eyes very sharp. " And it seems you share my doubts regarding Aldous Gareth."

" _Share _them?" Harry gripped the arms of the chair, hardly able to believe. " He's a raving lunatic, and you hired him on as a teacher!"

" Better here in Hogwarts under my eye—forgive me my singularity, Harry, but I must state it as such—then out in the world doing the Ministry's bidding." Dumbledore murmured.

" Why's that?" Harry demanded. " Professor Dumbledore, he's mad!"

" Mad like the rest of us, Harry, though in Aldous's case I suppose it stands to reason." Dumbledore replied.

" Stands to...what?" Harry stammered.

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh, and rose to his feet. He swept across the room to Fawkes's empty perch, and then he turned to face the window. The late afternoon light carved across his furrowed brow, making him look very beleaguered.

" Aldous Gareth worries me." Dumbledore went on quietly, and the subtle frustration of his tone held Harry rooted to his chair. " Of course, I made a point of keeping watch on him after I was informed of his soon-to-be status as a Professor." Dumbledore walked very slowly to the window, and leaned one hand against it, staring out over the grounds. " Aldous is a half-blood, Harry, and for the most part he was very small body to the Ministry. He was greatly overlooked, from what I hear...few people saw his potential.

" And then, beyond the expectations of all, he began to make successive leaps and bounds through the ranks of the Ministry. Just before arriving here he was promoted to the position of deputy Minister...the highest one can go beneath the Minister's position itself." Dumbledore shook his head, his long silver hair atremble. " It's all exceedingly odd, Harry. Why would someone with no name and somewhat lacking in skill and potential become suddenly so powerful? It worries me, I must admit."

" So...so sack him." Harry said quietly. " Professor, please...you can't..."

" Harry, I am not entirely sure what this man is capable of." Dumbledore interrupted, his voice equally soft. " All I know is...our dear Minister is not heeding the warning signs as I am attempting to do. He was prepared to give Aldous free reign over the Ministry, in every position save for his own. I saw fit then...and I still do...that he be here at Hogwarts, where I can watch him and perhaps discover the source of his sudden aptitude."

" Then...can't you make him teach something else? Like Potions? If you have someone else who could take his job...even _Snape _would be better!" Harry could not believe he had spoken the words, but his memories circled back to that disastrous Quidditch match in his first year, and the conviction burned strongly in his chest.

Dumbledore turned on the spot to face him, and there was something like disappointment in his blue eyes that made Harry wonder if he had spoken out of line.

" I would not allow Aldous Gareth to be anywhere near students when poisons were at hand." He stated quietly. And then, while Harry was still deciphering the meaning behind this reply, Dumbledore added, " And yes, Harry, I indeed have another in mind who would be suitable for the job. However, there are...odd ends that need to be unraveled before the position can be handed over. Until such a time, I think it best that we...though unwilling...allow Aldous to proceed with his teachings."

Harry stared at him for a long moment; he had been so righteously certain that Dumbledore would come to his aid...that Dumbledore would sack Gareth on the spot...

" Sir." Harry's voice trembled. " Sir, I thought you could stop him."

Dumbledore returned to the desk and sat in his chair, and he looked suddenly very careworn.

" You are not a fool, Harry." Dumbledore said quietly. " You must know by now...my continued residence at Hogwarts is but a mere practicality...it is a show of the Ministry's mercy, or so they see it in their minds. They are searching desperately for ways to have me removed from my position permanently. My judicial powers here are less than they were...perhaps not even rivaling those of the High Inquisitor." A smile that was almost sardonic tugged at Dumbledore's lips, then fell away at once. " Though it is the choice of the headmaster whether teachers remain in the castle...it has become, ultimately, the decision of the Wizengamot whether a teacher is to go or stay."

" So you can't...you mean, he's staying?" Harry asked, disbelief coloring his voice. " Professor, he made us use curses on each other! Unforgivables!"

Dumbledore's sharp eyes flew to Harry's face, and narrowed very slightly.

" Unforgivables?" He echoed, and Harry was relieved to see that he had captured the headmaster's full attention.

" Yeah, he tried to make me use the Imperius on Neville and he wanted Ron to use the Cruciatus on Hermione...only Ron tried to Stun Gareth instead, and now he's got detention, and Gareth all but said right out that he's going to be using torture..."

" _Professor _Gareth, Harry." Dumbledore corrected, by reflex, it seemed. As he spoke, he got to his feet very quickly, and walked to the hearth set at the back of the room, drawing his wand as he went; he waved it once, and flames leaped into life in the grate. Dumbledore, frowning very heavily, plunged his hand into an urn on the mantle, and withdrew a hand full of what looked like blackened ash; he hurled it into the fire, which at once became a shocking shade of green.

Harry waited in gleeful silence, hoping that Dumbledore was about to call Gareth, to tell him off...but a moment later, his dreams were dashed.

" Severus!" Dumbledore said clearly.

Harry looked away from the fire as the tall, greasy-haired form of Severus Snape revolved from the fire and spun upright onto the rug. Snape flicked irritably at the ash of his robes, then turned to face Dumbledore squarely.

" Yes, headmaster?"

" Severus, you are almost as accomplished at making yourself invisible as I." Dumbledore began straightforwardly. " I require your assistance in a matter that would demand the use of those particular skills."

" Yes?" Snape sounded slightly bored.

" I wish for you to stand guard in Aldous Gareth's office tonight." Dumbledore went on, his voice slightly less composed than was the norm. " To prevent him from using unwarranted levels of discipline on students."

" And you cannot simply talk to him because..."

" You had more experience with Aldous's predecessor than I did, Severus." Dumbledore's voice was slightly sharper. " Surely you, of all people, understand how tyrants cannot be swayed from their way of reasoning..."

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dumbledore run his hand very slightly over his left arm, as though brushing a fly from his sleeve. Snape's eyes followed the movement, and his lip curled.

" Your powers as Headmaster, then—?"

" Of little worth in this situation, I am afraid." Dumbledore shook his head swiftly. " Aldous Gareth is protected by the powers of the most pitiless Minister to govern our world in an age. My powers...great though they may be...cannot touch him."

Snape and Dumbledore exchanged a grim look; Harry tried to sink into his chair, so that Snape would not see him and he could perhaps hear more...

" And who," Snape began icily. " Will I be protecting from Gareth?"

" Ronald Weasley." Dumbledore replied promptly. " Who was given detention, by my understanding, for refusing to use the Cruciatus curse on his friend."

" Ah, so _that's _what Draco was prattling on about." Snape nodded. " He came by my private chambers asking me to contact his father...blathering about his _friends _being Stunned in class."

" Draco Malfoy?" Dumbledore sounded interested. " Ah, so there _is _a heart beyond the frosty exterior!"

" Perhaps as great and noble as my own." Snape replied wryly. " At your wish, Headmaster, I will intercede on Weasley's behalf...though I must admit I'd rather he be left to suffer for a bit, it might eradicate his rebellious, arrogant spirit...so like Potter...who, I must admit, has been shockingly quiet throughout our conversation. Not at all up to your usual standard, Potter. Have you no cheek left to spare?"

Harry leaped to his feet at once, glaring at Snape over the back of his chair; his ears were ringing with Snape's taunts.

" You shut your mouth about Ron." He snapped, his voice trembling with rage.

" If your friend is just as airheaded and one-centered as you are, Potter, then it is no wonder he..." Snape began, his tone malicious.

" That will do, Severus." Dumbledore intervened before Harry's mind could summon a curse...any curse. " Harry, kindly stay your wand. I won't condone a duel between a Professor and a teacher in my office...nor within the walls of this school, for that matter."

Harry, reluctantly, slid his wand back into his robes. Sneering triumphantly, Snape turned away.

" Until later, Headmaster." He bowed low—looking more like an oversized bat than ever he had—and then he stepped back into the still-green, blazing fire, and vanished.

" There you have it, Harry." Dumbledore clapped his hands together once. " Your friend will be safe with Severus watching, rest assured...whatever he might say. Now, off you trot, it is my understanding that you have a free period which you will undoubtedly wish to spend with your friends, in leisure."

Harry reluctantly picked up his bag, not assured in the least bit, and halfway to the door he paused, a thought occurring to him.

" Professor Dumbledore?"

" Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore sounded serene.

" Sir, you mentioned during my party that you wanted to show me something this year..."

" Ah, yes. That." Dumbledore sighed. " The details of that venture are still hammering themselves out, Harry, but suffice it to say it will be forthcoming, and I have not forgotten my promise in the slightest. Now, off you go."

It was a firm dismissal however kind it sounded; Harry hurried out the door, down the staircase, and back out into the corridor—and was nearly ambushed by Ron and Hermione, who had been sitting against the opposite wall of the hall and now leaped to their feet to meet him.

" Sorry we couldn't come with you before, mate, we had to shake Neville." Ron was looking much less composed than he had after class, as though the reality of his upcoming detention was at last beginning to sink in.

" What did Professor Dumbledore say?" Hermione asked, looking slightly frenzied. " He's going to stop Gareth, isn't he?"

" No." Harry replied dully. " He's told Snape to keep on eye on Ron during detention tonight, but that's it."

" I'm doomed." Ron muttered, turning a very pale shade of green. " Snape'll probably help him..."

" Ron!" Hermione gasped.

" I'd agree with you, mate, but I heard Dumbledore. He'll be on Snape's case if anything happens to you, and Snape won't want that, trust me." Harry looked from Ron—deathly pale still—to Hermione, wet-eyed—and then he reached out, seized their elbows, and steered them away from the staircase, down the corridor.

" You'll never believe this." Harry said the moment they were out of sight of the gargoyle statue, " But Malfoy complained to Snape about the class."

" You're kidding!" This shocking news seemed enough to pull Ron temporarily from his stupor of fear. " _Malfoy_, against _cursing _people? That's like Hermione petitioning for the removal of the library!"

" Oh, very funny, Ron." Hermione sniffed.

" That's not all," Harry went on, heartened by the obvious signs that he had, indeed, succeeded in drawing them both out of their dismal thoughts, " Dumbledore reckons Malfoy's got a _heart_."

At this, Ron actually burst out laughing.

" Yeah, right, and I've got a girl's..."

Hermione hit him upside his head.

" Are you both being dense on _purpose_?" She demanded sharply.

" Hermione, if you think _us _thinking _Malfoy _is a prat is dense, I think you're effing lost..." Ron replied, still laughing.

" I won't point out how strange that sentence sounded." Hermione interrupted loftily. " But haven't either of you realized? Malfoy obviously sees enough of attacking innocents when he's with Voldemort...I'll bet my entire set of course books that he's had enough of cursing friends."

" Yeah, right." Harry replied skeptically, unable to wrap his mind around Hermione's way of thinking.

" The day Malfoy feels remorse for _anything_ is the day I grow a third nut and get my hand hacked off." Ron put in.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but did not pursue the subject.

They spent the remainder of their free hour in the common room, despite Hermione dropping rather obvious hints that they should find their time better spent in the library. Harry reminded her that he would be less likely caught perusing the restricted section of the library at night, as he had done during their first year while searching for information on the enigmatic Nicolas Flamel. Ron wholeheartedly agreed, and Hermione remained mutinously silent thereafter, perusing her Defense Against the Dark Arts paper though her eyes remained fixed on one spot of the parchment without deviating; Harry suspected she was thinking about Ron's coming detention, just as he was.

The greatest smirch on the remainder of their days was that—owing in part to the fact that they did not have Care of Magical Creatures until the following day—Harry did not see Hagrid at all, and he felt slightly put-out by the fact that Hagrid had not only dismissed him the night before about tea, but had not made any attempt to contact him to reschedule.

He did not mention his frustration to Ron and Hermione, however; instead, during their second free period just before dinner, after their hour of Transfiguration, he dumped his books in his dormitory and escaped from the common room unhindered, to lock himself away in the disused girl's lavatory on the second floor. Once there, with the door safely locked, Harry pulled the two-way mirror Sirius had given him last Christmas from his bag. Sitting with his back to the wall, he wiped his robe's sleeve on the fogged face of the mirror and spoke clearly into it.

" Sirius!"

For a moment, nothing happened; then the fog, which, he realized then, was not outside the mirror but rather within, began to swirl. After a moment it cleared, and Harry saw Sirius's grinning face as though it was the reflection of his own.

" Didn't take you long." Sirius remarked.

" Hard day." Harry admitted. " How're you?"

" Never mind me." Sirius was frowning. " What's wrong?"

Harry took a deep breath and launched into the tale, detailing to Sirius his exchange with Malfoy on the train, the things Dumbledore had announced at the beginning-of-term feast, and then he took great care in describing every detail of their Defense class to Sirius's pensive face.

Sirius listened in silence until Harry had talked himself hoarse. When at last Harry was silent, Sirius's head began to move slowly back and forth.

" I don't like the sound of this Gareth character. Dumbledore said he made a rise to power pretty fast?"

" _Very_." Harry confirmed vehemently, tipping his head back against the wall. " I dunno what that's all about, but...Sirius, Ron's got detention with him, and even with Snape keeping on eye on him, I don't know what Gareth'll do."

Sirius seemed to be in deep thought.

" I figured something like this would happen." He sighed at length. " Dumbledore warned us that things would be different this year."

" Well, they are." Harry groaned, knocking his fist against his forehead. " They're a whole lot worse already."

Sirius smiled sympathetically and went on, " The only thing I can think of that would help Ron...and the rest of you...is if you took this bloke's orders lying down, and that's something I wouldn't recommend...it's definitely not the kind of thing James and I would have done..."

" How often did _you _have raving lunatics for professors?" Harry asked bleakly.

" Half the time, madness is a form of perception." Sirius reminded him wryly, his hand rising into the mirror to tap his temple. " Remember?" Then, abruptly, he was frowning again, his face heavily lined. " Listen, Harry, I know you want to help Ron, but something about this _Gareth _is really off. Don't cross him if you can help it. Just like in your fourth year, it sounds like Dumbledore's reading the signs that no one else is...if he's got Gareth there under his eye, it's probably for the best. All the same, keep to yourself in his class as best you can. And...whatever happens to Ron...you should tell Hermione that Essence of Dittany is pretty useful."

" Er...alright." Harry replied. " Well, I just wanted to tell you..."

" I'm glad you did." Sirius interrupted forcefully. " Keep me posted on everything that's going on, Harry...but write when you can, instead of using the mirror. I might not always have it with me, and if you need me in a hurry, Hedwig's a fast flyer."

" Got it." Harry nodded. " 'Bye, Sirius."

" Take care of yourself, Harry."

The white fog swirled back into place on the face of the mirror.

Harry let himself out of the bathroom and hurried back to the common room, stuffing his mirror into his bag as he went; he met Hermione and Ron outside the portrait hole. Ron looked extremely pale, and Hermione was biting her lip anxiously...something she rarely did.

Harry—who had been running, realizing he had less than five minutes to discard his bag and reach the Great Hall for the start of dinner—skidded to a halt in front of them.

" What is it?" He asked, looking from one to the other with panic pooling in his stomach at the sight of their stricken faces. " What's wrong?"

" Just got the time." Ron muttered, and he held out a half-crumpled piece of parchment for Harry's inspection. " For my detention. Eight o'clock."

" Right after dinner." Hermione added, her voice slightly unsteady. " I was just going to make him eat something...he really should...come on, Ron..."

She pulled him down the stairs toward the Great Hall, and Harry watched them go, feeling quite sick himself. He returned to the empty dormitory, threw his bag on the floor beside his trunk, and tugged his bracelet back down to its appropriate place on his wrist. He fingered the tiny hanging Snitch, considering opening it, letting the lullaby soothe him—but then, he reminded himself sternly, he needed to be awake, to sit up with Hermione and wait for Ron to return from his detention.

He wondered suddenly what it would be like if Ginny were here; he imagined she would be very indignant about her brother's unfair punishment. She would stand with her hands on her hips, toss her head, and demand that Ron simply stay on the common room and refuse to go.

_If only it were that simple_.

Harry found that his hunger had abated entirely, and he sat alone for quite some time, pushing the bracelet around his wrist and thinking about Ron and Ginny; Seamus, Dean, and Neville did not come up even after Harry heard the common room filling below, and with a sickening wrench of fear in his gut he realized that Ron must already be gone...

The dormitory door eased open; Harry looked round quickly, pulling the sleeve of his robes down to hide the bracelet, as Hermione entered.

" Hello, Harry." She whispered.

" Hey, Hermione." Harry replied. He noted that her eyes were very bright, and he hoped that she hadn't come up to have a good cry...he was completely useless at comforting people. " Er...how was Ron? When you last saw him, I mean."

" What do you think?" Hermione's voice was a token sharper as she came to sit on the bed beside him. Harry shrugged, then shifted slightly to accommodate her weight as Hermione leaned against him, staring down at her hands.

" I'm...I'm frightened." She admitted softly. " I don't know if...if Professor Snape can do anything for him. If Gareth decides to hurt him..."

" Then we'll...we'll find a way to stop him, Hermione, alright?" Harry assured her desperately, rubbing her shoulder awkwardly.

Hermione turned to look up at him, her eyes wide.

" Don't talk to me like I'm a clueless first year, Harry." Her words were sharp though her voice still trembled. " I _know _there's nothing we can do and _that's _what worries me."

Harry stared at her, wishing there was something he could do...his two best friends, the most important people in his life, were suffering, and he was powerless to help...

" Essence of Dittany." He said suddenly, remembering.

" I'm sorry...what?" Hermione blinked, looking taken aback.

" Essence of Dittany, Sirius told me it would help Ron, whatever Gareth did to him. I don't know where you can get some, though..."

Hermione gaped openly at him.

" You talked to Sirius?"

" Yeah, I used that..."

" Never mind." Hermione interrupted. " Of course, I'd forgotten you two were on speaking terms again. Essence of Dittany, yes...I've heard of it, I can't recall it's properties, though...do you suppose Professor Snape would...?" She looked up at him uncertainly. Harry shook his head.

" I told Sirius that Gareth was thinking of using torture as a form of detention...I'll bet my Firebolt that Dittany is something to do with healing. We should ask Madam Pomfrey." He said.

" Of course." Hermione nodded firmly. " Right, Harry, I'll just be along...wait for me by the fire, would you?"

And Harry, thinking it wise not to ask why she didn't want his company, agreed; he followed her down to the common room, and there they parted ways, Hermione climbing through the portrait hole while Harry hastened to occupy one of the free chairs before the fire, where he sat alone and listened to the conversation swelling all around him. It was several moments before he realized that the majority of the students in his year were muttering amongst themselves and looking thoroughly unsettled.

Dean and Seamus were sitting on a corner with Parvati and Lavender; their expressions ranged from mutinous to despairing. Neville was sitting near the portrait hole, slumped against the wall, staring into the fire past Harry with unblinking eyes. Every so often he shook his head as though battering away a niggling thought. Others were grouped about the room, talking quickly and quietly, and Harry felt isolated, finding himself wishing that he had Ron and Hermione by his side; his thoughts wandered from one to the other and back again several times before the common room began to clear out and Hermione, at last, returned.

The portrait hole swung in to herald her, flushed-faced and slightly aggravated, with a small brown bottle clutched in her hand. She pushed her way through the gaggle of Gryffindors to throw herself down in the armchair across from Harry. Up close, she looked less infuriated and more aggrieved.

" I had to convince Madam Pomfrey that the need was truly urgent before she'd give me a bottle of this Dittany." Hermione waved the bottle before Harry's eyes. " She told me that a few students used to use it for other things...I'm sure you know about Muggle narcotics, it was quite similar...anyway, she didn't believe me at first, I had to show her my Defense Against the Dark Arts homework before she would give it to me. But she did, and now..."

" Now we wait." Harry concluded, hating the dead, dry way the words fell from his tongue.

Hermione nodded bleakly, and leaned back in her chair; she didn't acknowledge Crookshanks when he leaped onto her knee, but instead stared into the fire, and clutched the bottle of Dittany tightly in her hand.

The hours wheeled by with neither of them speaking and their House-mates calling farewells and heading upstairs to the dormitories; it was nearing midnight when Neville at last got to his feet, bade them a heavy-hearted good night, and left, leaving the common room entirely deserted apart from Harry and Hermione.

The moment they were alone, Hermione leaned forward in her chair. Her eyes were narrowed and her face was very earnest.

" Harry, something's bothering me." She began,

Harry—who had been watching her twitching and fidgeting for the past two hours—thought this statement rather obvious, but he didn't say so; instead he nodded, indicating she should continue.

Hermione took a deep breath.

" What you said on the train yesterday afternoon...about the Order guarding something _else _in the Department of Mysteries...I can't see why they would have let the Death Eaters get close to it...and Mr. Weasley said they did, he said they let the Death Eater's _see_, but not...not _comprehend. _But if something in there is so valuable that they're protecting it around the clock and they're risking everything to keep it safe...why let the Death Eaters get near it in the _first _place?"

Harry pondered on her reasoning, admitting, to himself, that it was very logical. But what else could be expected from Hermione? He sat back in his chair, staring at the fire, thinking.

" Maybe..." He felt he was grasping at loose straws, but he went on, " I dunno. Back when I was younger, my Aunt and Uncle let Dudley try malt and cigars on his tenth birthday...they said it would keep him from getting curious later, you know, keep him from going at it behind their backs...take away the curiosity, let him see how it tasted and all that, and he wouldn't be tempted to try it without their permission. So, maybe that's what the Order was doing...letting the Death Eaters see whatever it was they were after, letting them catch a glimpse, so they'd think what they were looking for wasn't as good as they thought it was..."

" That's very flawed logic." Hermione pointed out simply. Harry couldn't hold back a smile.

" I'm using the Dursleys as an example, Hermione, of course it's flawed..." He replied. Hermione's lips twitched into something that was almost a smile, but not quite, and she sat back in her chair and stared at the fire.

" It's just so odd..." She mumbled to herself, her fingers drumming against the chair arms. Harry silently agreed, and they were quiet for a moment, gazing into the banking flames and thinking very hard.

And then their heads swung around and they spoke at the same moment.

" Voldemort..."

" The prophecy..."

They stared at one another for a moment; then, with a quick laugh, Harry gestured for Hermione to go on. Looking slightly sheepish, she complied.

" The prophecy, Harry...we heard...we know what it says. Dumbledore told us, during your party, he...he said he thought you'd need our help..." Hermione looked acutely self-conscious, as though she did not agree with Dumbledore's line of reasoning. Harry shook his head.

" I'm glad he did. I mean...he was right. I would have told you anyways." He admitted.

" Well, I'm...that's good, Harry, that you're not trying to go it alone." Hermione mumbled, looking down at her hands again. " Only...you're scared, aren't you?"

Harry's mouth was suddenly dry.

_Neither can live while the other survives_.

" Of course I am." He whispered.

Hermione looked up sharply.

" Harry, do you know what I think...?"

But Harry did not get the chance to hear what Hermione thought, because at that moment the portrait of the Fat Lady swung outward, and Harry and Hermione were on their feet and halfway across the room before it had closed again.

And at the side of the portrait hole they stopped, wide-eyed and ashen faced.

" Ron!" Hermione gasped.

Ron was sagging against the wall, his legs shaking so badly it seemed impossible that he would be able to remain upright for very much longer. He was disrobed and shirtless, wearing only faded Muggle jeans, and there were great, oozing lesions carved across his back. These—coupled with the scars on his arms from the tentacle-laden brain, which Harry had grown so used to he had nearly forgotten their existence—made him look very battle-worn and frightening indeed.

Ron's head lifted weakly, as though he had only just noticed they were there. His clouded blue eyes swung from Harry's frozen, appalled face, to Hermione's tearstained eyes, and he attempted a very weak smile.

" 'M'alright..." He mumbled.

And then he sagged, on the verge of collapse. Harry darted forward to catch his best mate around the chest, and—trying very hard not to touch Ron's wounds—steered him to the nearest armchair beside the fire. Hermione hastened after them, and the moment Ron was seated, she poured a generous helping of the Essence of Dittany onto her palm and began to rub it gently over his back. Ron drooped even further, his eyes closing.

Harry knelt by the arm of the chair, watching as spasms of pain flitted across Ron's face. Horror was giving way to anger, anger that was directed at three people; Dumbledore and Snape, for not stopping this, and Gareth, for causing this agony in the first place.

" What happened, Ron?" He asked tensely.

Ron shuddered and flinched as Hermione's hand passed over a particularly painful spot, and he spoke without opening his eyes.

" It wasn't just me." He whispered. " There were others there. Two more. First years, Harry. He was teaching this stuff to _first_ _years_." This time, his shiver had nothing to do with the pain. " He lined us up against the wall and then told me I had one chance to redeem myself...I had to Stun them both."

Hermione's hand hesitated over his back.

" Did you?" She asked anxiously.

" 'Course not." Ron's indignation made his voice stronger. " I told him I wouldn't do any of the sick stuff he wanted me to do. So he made them write lines using those bloody quills Umbridge used on Harry last year, and..."

Ron broke off, shuddering even more pronouncedly, and his arms curled around his chest, his fingers brushing the edges of the wounds on his back.

" Why didn't Snape stop him?" Harry demanded, outraged. Ron looked up at last, and his eyes were dark with pain, full of empty hopelessness.

" He did." His voice was barely more than a whisper. " He stopped Gareth from getting the chain around my neck."

Harry fell back from his crouch, unseeing; Hermione uttered a high gasp of shock.

" Gareth didn't...he _couldn't_." She hissed.

" He almost did." Ron replied bleakly. " Said it was an accident...Snape came in the door right when he flung it and...it wrapped around here..." Ron indicated his throat, which was rimmed in an angry red line, " Sort of like a snake. Hurt like hell, but Snape pointed his wand and said something and the chain glowed blue and just sort of...fell off me. I didn't see Wanderer or that little Hufflepuff first year...I reckon Snape already got them out before me..."

Hermione's hand shook worse than ever as she applied the last of the Dittany and stepped away.

" You could have died." She whispered, sounding horror-struck.

" I owe Snape one for that." Harry muttered grudgingly. His mind shied away from the possibility of what might have happened had Snape not intervened when he did. " I suppose it _wasn't _an accident?" He added to Ron.

" Definitely not." Ron shook his head, wincing as he did so. " Gareth told me to yield...bloke kept saying all I had to do was Stun 'em...and I was thinking about, it, but...first years..." He shook his head again. " I told him to stick the chain up his arse, and then he chucked it at my head."

" _Ron!_" Hermione sounded aghast. Harry couldn't help but admire his friend's nerve; Ron, for his part, did not look the least bit repentant.

" He had it coming."

" Well, of course, but that doesn't mean...!" Hermione began hotly.

" That doesn't matter now." Ron interrupted her. " Those two'll have sore hands for a few days, but at least they won't wind up like Zambini...I overheard someone at dinner saying the break in his arm wasn't clean enough for Madam Pomphrey to just mend it, they're going to have to give him a little Skele-Grow..."

" That Gareth is foul...for what he did to us _and _to the Slytherins." Hermione hissed under her breath.

" Forget the D.A." Harry muttered, staring at Hermione's livid face. " We don't need it to unify the Houses...it sounds like Gareth's doing that for us."

Ron's lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile, and he bowed his head again, closing his eyes.

They sat in silence for a long while; Harry noticed that Hermione was staring at Ron's back with eyes that were growing very wide indeed.

" Well." Hermione drew in a deep breath at last. " I've seen to your wounds, Ron, I've done all I can do...I'll have to sneak into Gareth's office to get back your robes, I think...for now, maybe we should all go to bed..."

But even as she said it, Ron sagged sideways against the arm of the chair; he was snoring.

Harry touched his friend's shoulder very lightly, then got to his feet.

" I think we should leave him be." He murmured. Then, catching the look in Hermione's eye, he added, " You're staying, aren't you?"

" I...yes, it would seem wrong just to leave him..."

" Fine." Harry shrugged. " Give me a minute."

He hurried up to the dormitory, stripping from his robes as he went; inside, he changed into his pajamas, pulled the sheets and covers from his and Ron's beds, and hurried back downstairs.

Hermione had dragged the other armchair closer to the fire, and she was sitting in it, staring at Ron with stricken eyes. Harry felt extremely sorry for her, a feeling that was amplified a hundredfold as she looked up at him and attempted a smile.

" Have you brought blankets?" She whispered. " Oh, thank you, Harry..."

She accepted the sheets he offered, but she did not place them over Ron; instead, she got to her feet, and, snaring Harry's wrist, pulled him over to the armchair.

" Harry, I wanted you to see..."

She pointed to the tarnished pink lines on Ron's back—and Harry could only stare at what she indicated, feeling more disgusted than he ever had in his entire life.

The once-oozing lacerations, mended almost fully by the Dittany, had not faded enough—nor would they ever, Harry privately thought—to erase the single word carved into Ron's flesh.

_Traitor_.

Harry looked up; Hermione's cheeks were wet with tears.

" It won't go away." She whispered.

And Harry couldn't stay with them another minute.

He was standing in the dormitory, the invisibility cloak clutched in his hand, within minutes. And then he was racing back downstairs, past Ron and Hermione—both of whom were now shrouded beneath the covers—and out the portrait hole, into the deserted corridors, veiled in shadow.

He did not bother to be silent; he did not care if he was caught. He simply ran, for a very long time, until he reached the corridor he was looking for.

And then he proceeded to walk up and down, very sharply, angrily, before the empty wall, not looking at the painting of the dancing trolls, not looking at the wall, not seeing anything but the lines carved into Ron's skin...

The door materialized before him; Harry did not pause for a moment, instead pushing through it and entering the Room of Requirement without even thinking about what it was he was seeking...

It looked so familiar that, for a moment, it was like stepping back through time; the bookshelves, the arched ceiling, the poufs, the statues near the walls. Everything was just as Dumbledore's Army had left it the previous year.

Harry walked straight to the back of the room, whirled to face the door, and stared at the life-size model of Aldous Gareth that the Room of Requirement had given him.

Harry had never more effectively performed the Cruciatus Curse; only on this statue, which cracked and shattered and reformed again and again, was it safe for him to unleash the torrential anger scalding his heart and blackening the very soul inside of him.

And tonight was the first night that any object felt the taste of his own _Avada Kedavra_.


	15. End of Familiarity

_Author's Notes: Well, hello again, everyone! Fireglass is back with a treat! Now, I'm faced with a bit of a dillema here. is being complicated and won't let me replace my chapters which I have edited, meaning for now, you will have to READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE if you do not wish to be confused!_

_The most prominent change is Aldous Gareth's name. He is now VINCENT GARETH. There are other, more subtle changes in earleir chapters that do not, I think, greatly affect the plot heretofor, so we'll overlook those for now. I'll post another Author's Note as a chapter when FFNet decides to let me do what I want to do and I can reupload the earlier chapters. _

_I hope I haven't scared all my readers off with my absence. Please, do review!_

* * *

Chapter XV: the End of Familiarity

* * *

Harry did not return to the common room until well after dawn; he was utterly exhausted, his body and mind strained seemingly beyond their capacity from his constant spell-casting during the night, and he stumbled through the portrait hole and swayed upright, staring blearily at Hermione, who had risen from her chair as he entered and now hurried to join him.

" Here, Harry, give it to me." She commanded, extending her hand.

" What, this?" Harry asked groggily, lifting the invisibility cloak to eye level.

" Yes, _that!_" Hermione snapped, snatching it away from him. She threw it over herself without another word and departed, leaving Harry alone in the common room with Ron, who was still huddled in the chair by the fire, snoring.

Stretching his aching limbs each in turn, Harry padded to the fire, sat down in Hermione's recently vacated chair, and shook Ron gently by the shoulder.

" Ron." He hissed. " Ron, wake up."

" Huh?" Ron mumbled. His eyelids fluttered. " Harry? Whazit? What's going—?" He broke off in an enormous yawn, and his eyes opened at last, fixing on Harry with a glazed sort of look. " What'd I miss?"

" Nighttime." Harry replied with a small smile. " Come on, the others will be waking up soon. You should get dressed...:

" Yeah, right...oh. Ow. _Ouch!_" Ron exclaimed loudly as he sat up. His hand flew to touch his back. " Blimey, what...what _happened _to me last night?" He asked, his suddenly wide eyes still fixed on Harry's face.

" Detention, remember?" Harry said. " Gareth..."

" Ripped my back open." Ron muttered as the memory returned, and he sat up more fully, " Right. _Bloody hell_, this hurts...where's Hermione gotten off to?"

" Getting your robes from Gareth's office, I think." Harry replied distractedly.

" What?" Ron gaped at him. " No! If she get's caught, he'll effing skin her alive!"

" She's got my dad's cloak, he can't see her." Harry glanced around to make sure no students had come downstairs yet, and then he added, softly. " Listen, Ron, I was out training last night, and...I've been thinking...it might be time to reform the D.A."

" Yes!" Ron punched a fist skyward, winced, but his sudden smile did not falter in the slightest. " I _knew _you'd come around, mate! When's the first meeting?"

" I dunno...Quidditch schedule's going to get in the way..."

" Oh, yeah." Ron seemed to deflate. " Forgot about that. Well, you should tell Neville anyway, he'll probably wet himself..."

He was interrupted at that moment by Hermione reentering the portrait hole, throwing off the cloak and holding up Ron's robes triumphantly. Her face, however, was creased with worry as Harry and Ron came to join her.

" You didn't get caught!" Ron said, looking flabbergasted.

" Obviously." Hermione replied loftily. " That would have been difficult, seeing as how Gareth wasn't in his office, or his classroom."

" Bloke's probably at breakfast already, lucky for us." Ron said cheerfully as he took his robes from Hermione's limp hands.

" Hang on a second." Harry frowned. He seized his cloak, turned, and dashed up to the dormitory, where he retrieved the Marauder's Map and discarded the cloak beneath his pillow, then turned and raced back down to the common room to join Ron and Hermione.

" I solemnly swear I am up to no good!" Harry announced, tapping the map with the tip of his wand. He watched as the webwork of black lines blossomed across the map, watched as the tiny dots formed, and then he leaned close and began to study each name, reading off some of them aloud, with Ron and Hermione looking over his shoulder. It became apparent, however, after several minutes of fruitless searching, that Vincent Gareth was not only absent from his office, he was absent from the school—and from the nearby village of Hogsmeade—entirely.

Frustrated, Harry tapped the map a second time and muttered, " Mischief Managed!...sort of."

" That's...very odd." Hermione said in a strained voice. " It's not usual for teachers to leave the school at night, is it?"

" You'd know better than we would, Hermione." Ron pointed out.

" I suppose..." Hermione looked into the fire, frowning.

" Well, we'd better change." Harry said. " Coming, Ron?"

" Yeah, just a second, mate." Ron muttered. He glanced at Hermione, opened his mouth as though to say something, then turned and hurried past Harry, up the stairs to the dormitory. Hermione stared after him, looking faintly stricken, and then she too left, and Harry was standing alone, clutching his map and feeling as though he had just born witness to something very private that he should not have been a part of.

No one else was awake in the dormitory besides Ron, who was changing behind the drawn curtains of his four-poster bed when Harry entered; he laid out his robes, stuffed the map back into his trunk, and stood for a moment, staring at the Dark Aura Detector wedged into a pair of his socks. For a moment, he wondered if he should take it with him to his Defense classes, to see if it went off around anything Gareth kept in there...

But that would be foolish; he didn't want the item confiscated, and he wouldn't put it past Gareth to do that, either.

Reluctantly, Harry dressed, slipped on the bracelet, and emerged from behind the hangings to find Ron standing before him, looking extremely sheepish with his robes still slung over his arm.

" Listen, mate...blimey, this is awkward...can you help me? I, er...can't get this on, my back..." Ron mumbled. He turned around and Harry could see that the effort of trying to pull on his robes had reopened the wounds on Ron's back, which were bleeding fresh.

Harry's throat felt tight.

" Yeah, Ron, sure..."

It took him several minutes and multiple strange bodily contortions to wrestle the robes over Ron's head, owing in large part to the fact that Ron kept trying to help. In the end, Harry had to threatened to Petrify him before Ron agreed, though with a great deal of embarrassed muttering, to hold still.

When at last they were both fully dressed, though their hair was rumpled and Ron was flushed with mortification, they made their way back to the common room, which was quickly filling as more and more students came down for breakfast. Harry saw no sign of Hermione, however, and he and Ron did not linger in the common room, instead escaping through the portrait hole before anyone could ask questions about Ron's detention.

They were some of the first in the Great Hall amongst a scattering of students from all houses; Harry glanced surreptitiously toward the Slytherin table and saw that Malfoy, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle were sitting in a huddle, laughing and looking unaffected as usual by the world around them. The small Slytherin first-year, Demetri Wanderer—whom Ron had saved from being Stunned the night before—was sitting off to the side, looking down at his hands. He glanced up, however, as they passed, and catching Ron's eye he gave him a subtle nod of gratitude. Ron mumbled beneath his breath, looking embarrassed again.

At that moment, Malfoy looked up; he caught sight of Harry and Ron, his face twisting into an ugly sneer, and he called out, " Hey Potty, Weasley! How was the detention, Weasel? I heard Gareth gave you your dues, blood traitor!"

Harry grabbed Ron around the chest as his best mate wheeled on the spot, his face dark red with rage now rather than awkwardness. Bodily shoving Ron behind him, Harry faced down Malfoy, who was leaning back in his chair and smirking.

" At least Ron's got something to be proud of." Harry said, so lowly no one beyond the Slytherin table would hear. " At least his marks are worth something...unlike some people's!"

And as he said it, Harry jerked up the left sleeve of his robes pointedly.

Malfoy's pale face grew entirely ashen, and he leaped to his feet, but just as he did the doors of the Great Hall burst inward and a hundred students poured into the room. Harry and Ron dodged through the crowd, Ron looking smug now rather than enraged, Harry with the heat of satisfaction singing in his veins.

They found Hermione sitting beside Neville at the Gryffindor table. Neville was talking quietly, and both were looking very intent indeed.

"...can't remember where...oh, hello, Harry, Ron." Neville greeted as the pair seated themselves on the bench. Looking rather anxious, Neville added, " How was your detention, Ron?"

" Bloody brilliant." Ron replied brightly, reaching for the plate of eggs that had just appeared before him. " So, Neville, what've you forgotten this time?"

Neville...who had a habit of leaving his things at home or else simply not remembering important facts, such as the password to Gryffindor Tower...flushed, but smiled slightly all the same.

" I haven't really forgotten, I just..." He broke off, blinked, then went on, " I can't help thinking I've seen Vincent Gareth somewhere before."

" At the Ministry, maybe?" Ron suggested, raising his brows. " No, that'd be too obvious, seeing a Ministry bloke _at _the actual Ministry..."

Hermione shot Ron an exasperated look, but Neville, looking disturbed, merely shook his head.

" No, it wasn't the Ministry...it's just...I'm not sure it was a happy memory..." He mumbled, staring into the distance with a distracted expression.

" Don't think about it, then." Ron advised. " Here, have some toast..."

As he ate, Harry kept one eye on the staff table throughout; he did not see Hagrid came in for breakfast, and that worried him. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Hagrid at all since before the feast, when he had dismissed Harry from tea so abruptly...and Harry couldn't help thinking that something was terribly amiss...

Harry's attention was diverted from the staff table, however, as he noticed Ron beginning to shrink slightly beside him, to slouch, his shoulders hunching, until his forehead was resting against the table.

" Ron!" Harry said over the clamor of the Great Hall. " Ron, are you alright?"

" Fine." Ron muttered, but his strained tone was unconvincing. Harry glanced at his friend's back and noticed that his robes were stained in both old and new blood. Ron was looking very pale again.

" Hermione!" Harry leaned over to tap her shoulder; Hermione, who had been scanning the _Daily Prophet_ with a worried frown, glanced up, and Harry nodded to indicate Ron's lax form beside him. Hermione's frown deepened, and she folded the _Daily Prophet_, tossed it into her bag, and, under the pretense of leaning around Harry to reach the pitcher of pumpkin juice, she tapped her wand against Ron's robes and muttered, " _Tergeo_!"

The blood vanished from his robes at once; Ron shifted, seemed to feel the change, and looked around as Hermione stood up and hitched her bookbag onto her shoulder, her face set with determination.

" Come on, Ron, we're going to the hospital wing." She said coldly.

" What?" Ron looked up at her blankly, then recovered himself. " No, Hermione, I'm fine, forget it..."

" Ron." Hermione's tone was steely. " You're bleeding."

" People bleed, it's a natural part of being human..." Ron replied defensively.

" _Not _after they've been whipped with a chain, that's a bad sign." Hermione snapped. " Now get up or I'll hex you."

" And what, give Gareth the satisfaction of breaking me?" Ron retorted stiffly, though he would not meet her eyes. " Hermione, I'm fine...it's just a little sore."

" Ron..."

" Let it go, Hermione." Harry advised; he could see by the icy light of Ron's blue eyes that he was not going to relent...and Harry empathized. He had felt much the same while in detention with Umbridge the previous year...not wanting to let her get to him, but sitting in the dormitory every night with his hand stinging worse and worse...

" I can't believe you're taking his side." Hermione hissed to Harry, leaning low over him. " You know he's in pain."

" Let him tough it out, Hermione...he's stronger than you give him credit for."

Hermione sniffed, then turned and left the Great Hall; several pairs of eyes swung to follow her as she exited. Ron's hands were clenched into fists white as his face as he stared down at the tabletop.

" Blimey, I hate rowing with her..." He muttered.

As they finished eating, left the Great Hall, and made their way toward the greenhouses for Herbology, Harry noticed that Ron was walking with greater ease, stretching into himself a bit more, as though his injuries were now bothering him less. Catching Harry watching him, Ron smiled.

" Feels better already...don't worry about me, Harry..."

Reassured by Ron's buoyant attitude, Harry found himself better able to concentrate throughout the lesson, and he clapped along with the rest as Neville, shockingly, beat out Hermione—who arrived five minutes late to class, looking very windswept and disturbed—to identifying every quality of the Snapping Sycamore, earning Gryffindor House a whopping thirty points, which made them the first House to earn any points at all that term; a matter which Dean and Seamus proclaimed loudly all the way back up the castle after the lesson.

" That was quite good, Neville!" Hermione called as Neville, flanked by Parvati and Lavender, walked past them. Neville beamed at her, looking supremely proud, then waved as he turned back to face the wind. Harry, walking slightly behind, grinned.

" Finally getting the hang of himself, isn't he?" He said admiringly, though he couldn't help thinking that the D.A. lessons had played a part in Neville's coming out of his fear, if only by a slight degree...

" Yes, he really is." Hermione's eyes were shining. " And I think he's finally beginning to...to realize his worth. I'm quite proud of him, actually."

Harry, privately, had to agree.

Harry spent the whole of the following free period in an empty classroom with Ron and Hermione; Ron, shirtless, sat on the edge of the abandoned desk as Hermione worked feverish spellwork over the scars on his back. Harry leaned back in one of the disused desks at his ease and bewitched a model of a sparrow on the professor's desk to soar at random about the room. Hermione, looking at him sidelong, grimaced.

" You're a very good wizard, you know, Harry." She commented. " If you only paid a bit more attention in class, you'd never have any homework, either..."

" Hey, I'm not shoddy at charms myself." Ron put in as though afraid of being ignored. Hermione gave him a tolerant, slightly amused smile, then set back to his injuries. Ron shot Harry a disconsolate look which Harry rebuffed with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Ron turned away and said nothing.

The free period fled past very quickly, and at last Hermione, with a sigh, instructed Ron to put his shirt back on. Commenting loudly on his voracious hunger, Ron walked ahead of them to the Great Hall for lunch; Hermione hung back and spoke to Harry quickly, quietly.

" I've done all I can to mend his scars, but I doubt they'll ever go away completely. I don't think he knows...what they say...but in any case, I don't think the bleeding will be much of a problem anymore."

" Good." Harry said fervently.

" I'm just worried about...about his attitude." Hermione plowed on as though she had not heard Harry. " He's being shockingly stubborn...even worse than you...and even though I _think _he'll be alright, he should still go and see Madam Pomfrey..."

" Hermione, just let it go." Harry advised.

Hermione sniffed, then marched on ahead of him. Slump-shouldered, Harry followed.

The trio ate their lunch very quickly, all of them eager to see Hagrid. Harry's insides lurched strangely, leaving him caught between trepidation and determination. He knew for certain he would not let Hagrid get away without some sort of explanation...he had ignored Harry for two days...

Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way from the Great Hall and down the wide, loping lawn to Hagrid's hut ahead of everyone else. Harry hoped that Malfoy and his cronies had opted not to continue this course; Harry did not doubt he would curse Malfoy into the following week if he tried to insult Hagrid again...

" Look, there's Hagrid!" Hermione said suddenly, and rather unnecessarily; Hagrid's towering form was standing next to his vegetable garden and was impossible to miss against the backdrop of the bright blue sky.

" Hagrid!" Hermione waved her arm and called out cheerfully as they approached. Hagrid turned, and his beetle-black eyes flickered from Hermione's expectant face, to Ron's relaxed expression, to Harry's frown, and then hardened.

" What're yeh gettin' on abou'?" He demanded roughly. " That's _Professor _to yeh, whad'ya think yeh are, a bunch o' misfits?"

Hermione blinked, dropping her arm.

" H-Hagrid...?"

" _Professor!_" Hagrid roared. " And don't yeh forge' it, you three...I won't be havin' any o' yer friendly talk...now ge' back an' wait for the rest o' the class...righ', here they are now..." He looked past Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who stared at him in avid shock, toward the castle where the handful of other N.E.W.T level students were just exiting; Harry's head throbbed with the callousness of Hagrid's demeanor, which was so brutally unlike him, it was as though he was a different person.

" Hagrid?" Harry said softly, stepping forward.

For a moment, Harry feared that Hagrid would hit him; certainly there was a kind of wild panic and anger in those eyes that made the notion seem entirely possible. But when Hagrid reached out it was only to grip the trowel resting on the nearby fence post. He threw it into the vegetable garden, turned around, and heaved a large box over the fence railing. Feeling as though he was pressing his luck, Harry took another step forward.

" Hagrid, talk to me." He pleaded, and he heard the childlike begging of his own voice, the hurt and the disbelief there. " What's wrong?"

" Nothin's wrong, I've told yeh, I'm trying ter teach my class and yer actin' out o' line, Potter! An' it's _Professor Hagrid!_"

Hagrid's cold address to him—the use of his surname—more than anything made Harry realize that something had twisted and reshaped itself between him and Hagrid. Feeling ice stealing through his veins, Harry stepped back to stand beside Ron and Hermione.

" Right. Sorry, _sir_." He said fiercely. Hagrid looked around, his jaw hanging slack for a moment, and then he nodded curtly and dropped the crate onto the ground before his feet.

The rest of the class joined them at last; there were only two Slytherin students whose names Harry did not know, along with Dean and Neville, and to Harry's surprise, Cho, Hannah, and Ernie.

" Righ'." Hagrid rubbed his enormous hands together. " Professor Dumbledore decided to throw yeh together, seein' as how it's yer sixth year an' all, an' there's only the lot of you..." Hagrid's face fell briefly as he said this. Then he shook his head quickly. " Righ', so! C'mon over 'ere...tha's righ', don' worry, nothin' in here that'll hurt yeh..." He beckoned them all closer, and reluctantly, they obeyed. Harry thought privately that Hagrid's perception of what was dangerous and harmful was not generally a good one, but he kept this thought to himself. Hermione was very stiff beside him, looking anywhere but at Hagrid.

Harry glanced sidelong at Ron, who shrugged, as Hagrid shifted back the lid of the crate at his feet. Cho leaned around Neville and gasped.

A great, dark blue shape shifted in the bowels of the box; a head lifted, large, iridescent eyes blinking in the sunlight. Hermione gasped aloud and clapped a hand to her mouth.

" Hagrid, is that a...a...?" She glanced at Hagrid, eyes wide, and Hagrid seemed too involved in the moment to correct her for not calling him 'Professor'. He smiled widely at their shocked faces and nodded.

" This 'ere's a Simargl, 'course you've 'eard of it, Hermione, you've 'eard o' everything...anyway, this feller's the last of his kind in the forest, got Dumbledore's permission to capture him meself...c'mon then, up you get..." Hagrid nudged the crate with the toe of his boot, which sent it skidding across the ground. Neville leaped back, but by contrast the others moved forward as the creature rose, shook itself all over, and sprang lightly from the crate.

It was a wolf; it had to be a wolf, yet Harry had never seen one so _big_. The only canine that could compare was Sirius while in his Animagus form. Harry doubted, were they side-by-side, there would be an inch of difference in their heights. The Simargl stepped away from the crate, shook all over, and for a moment Harry thought its fur had exploded outward; and then he could only stare as a pair of wings—as brilliantly blue as the rest of its body—arced away from the wolf's hollow flanks, sweeping on either side as far as the ground.

Cho inhaled sharply; Harry looked around and saw that Hannah was smiling widely beside Neville, who looked as awestruck as Harry felt. Ron muttered, " Blimey!" and Hermione looked thoroughly impressed.

" Hagrid, how did you _find _him?" She demanded. " Simargls are supposed to be very rare..."

" Told yeh ter call me Professor, didn' I?" Hagrid replied roughly. " An' like I said, he was jus' wanderin' 'round the forest...right friendly once he realized I wasn't tryin' ter hurt 'im..."

" He's beautiful." Cho breathed.

" I been tryin' ter name him," Hagrid admitted as the Simargl flicked his wings slightly and bowed into a deep, luxurious stretch. " Seein' as 'ow he'll be around all year...yeh can 'elp me wi' that, if yeh like..."

" Can we touch him?" Hannah asked, her voice pleading.

" Eh...I don' think that'd be bad..." Hagrid looked slightly flustered. " Le' me, firs'..." He stepped toward the Simargl. Ron leaned toward Harry.

" What d'you want to bet he'll have to bow?" He asked lowly. Harry muffled his laughter with a cough, keeping his eyes on Hagrid.

But Hagrid didn't bow to the Simargl; he merely touched its shoulder carefully, and said a quiet word. The wolf's head swung around, its luminous eyes locking on Hagrid. After a moment it shook out its wings and sighed.

" Righ'." Hagrid sounded brisk now. " Yeh can pet 'im, go on..."

The class crowded forward eagerly; the Simargl resigned itself to their searching, wondering fingertips, and Harry laughed aloud when Ernie began to scratch the base of its left wing, which elicited a purring growl of pleasure from the beast's cavernous chest.

" Professor Hagrid, he's wonderful." Hermione sighed as she stroked the wolf's face. " And the last of his kind?" She glanced at Hagrid, who nodded.

" 'Least, 'round these parts." He said matter-of-factly.

Hermione laughed aloud as the Simargl's tongue darted out, swiping her cleanly from her chin to the top of her head. Ron stared at her for a moment, then shook his head as though he had just recovered from a heavy blow. Harry, standing opposite Ron with the Simargl between them, pretended not to notice.

It was one of the best Care of Magical Creatures classes they had ever had, and it would have been perfect had it not been for the chasm that yawned between Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid; Hagrid assigned them the first chapter of their course books to read, and, with barely five minutes left to the lesson, he coaxed them all away from the Simargl.

" E's tired, let 'im rest!" Hagrid's tone was good-natured. " Got ter take 'im back to the fores'...Dumbledore's put up some charms ter keep 'im from getting' too far, but I'll need a hand...Potter, why don't yeh come wi' me?"

Harry—who was sitting on the fence watching Ron and Hermione groom the Simargl—glanced around sharply. He was still not used to Hagrid addressing him with such rigid formality.

" Sure, _Professor_." He replied stiffly, hopping down from the fence. " How do we get him to come, though?"

" Like this." Hagrid reached into his pocket and pulled out an aged, whittled flute that Harry vaguely recognized; it looked very much like the flute Hagrid had given him during his first year. Softly, Hagrid began to play, and the Simargl turned at once toward the music, so quickly it nearly buffeted Ron and Hermione backwards.

Then, with a flick of its wings, the Simargl followed Hagrid into the forest, with Harry trailing uselessly behind.

They had barely crossed the threshold of the undergrowth when Hagrid looked quickly all around, leaned toward Harry, and whispered. " Nip down to me hut tonight at midnigh', Harry, I'll explain everythin' to yeh..."

Harry, shocked by Hagrid's rapidly varying moods, stood frozen for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

Hagrid leaned away from him, reached out, and rubbed the Simargl's shoulder.

" Think I'm doin' alrigh' for me first N.E.W.T class?" Hagrid sounded suddenly childlike in his uncertainty, and Harry nodded.

" Yeah, it was loads better than usual, Professor."

Hagrid's face twitched as though he might have smiled, and then he turned away.

" Yeh've got free time now, best get up to the castle."

Harry felt gloomy again as he reached out, patted the Simargl's flank, and followed Hagrid back out into the sunlight.

* * *

" He's a bloody nutter!"

" Ssh, Ron, keep your voice down!" Hermione's whisper carried on the face of the chilly wind.

" Well, he _is!_"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking back from Care of Magical Creatures, heads bent close together; Harry had just finished telling them of Hagrid's request. Ron looked affronted and Hermione simply shocked.

" First he acts like he hasn't known us for six years," Ron said furiously, " And then he wants us to come down for _tea_? He's off his bloody rocker, you ask me..."

" No one _asked _you, Ronald." Hermione cut in tersely. " I for one am going...I'd like to know why he was being so rude...and if it's not something he can say in front of the other students, the only logical thing to do is meet him in private..."

" I hate this." Ron muttered. " Sulking around the background, not telling anyone where we're going, or why...since when does going to Hagrid's have to be a secret?"

Harry was not listening to them; he was becoming aware of a gradually building pain behind his scar, a subtle throbbing from within. He rubbed his forehead distractedly, but the ache did not abate; if anything, it grew worse.

Harry let out a low hiss of pain, unbidden. Hermione look around at him, her eyes suddenly wide, alert.

" Harry?"

" It's nothing." He assured her hollowly. And it really wasn't, he tried to reassure himself as they mounted the steps into the castle...he had been having pains like this all summer, why did it have to mean anything now?

But still the pain did not wane, and by the time they had reached the common room Harry's eyes were watering. He mumbled a vague excuse to Ron and Hermione and fled up to the dormitories; he was just barely into his bed when the light faded and darkness swam into his vision.

He was standing in a small, dimly lit chamber; he was staring down at the high-backed chair before him, and in his long, white hands he spun his wand...

There were too men sitting before him; they were looking at the fire in the hearth, at the window beside the door, anywhere but at him. This amused him immensely.

" Avery, Nott, I did not call you here to kill you." Harry said, and his voice was high, frigid, unyielding. " I called you here for information. There are...certain matters that need tending to. As Bellatrix is currently deployed elsewhere, I wish for you to guard this place. You have been valuable assets in the past...however, should you fail this task...I will see to it that you suffer greatly before your demise..."

" My Lord." Nott's voice was quavering. " My Lord, if I may ask...what is it that calls you away so urgently?"

There was a very long pause; the soft, wet sound of a serpentine body slithering across wood panels was the only motion that broke the silence. Nott cowered into himself, and at last Harry went on.

" You know what calls to me, Nott." He said, very softly. " You know I cannot leave that place for very long...my energy, I admit, is not what it used to be...perhaps the method was imprecise? Regardless," He shook his head. " The one who misled me has paid the price and continues to do so even now...there is only the one thing left to me..."

The great snake wound itself around his leg, slithered across his arm, draped across his shoulders. He stroked the powerful head, his long, pale fingers passing the length of the liquid scales, and his mouth contorted into a horrible smile.

" Yes. The consequences are of no matter. We are nearly there..."

And as the laughter rang out, icy and unfeeling from his throat, Harry's eyes flew open; he drew in a heaving breath and screamed aloud as a surge of unconquerable pain burst forth behind his scar. He rolled from the bed and hit the floor with enough force to make his vision go black again...only this time, he remained, though dazedly, in his own mind.

What had the vision meant? Voldemort was doing something terrible, that much was certain...something that was making his strength drain, but that still made him very happy...it was an ill omen regardless of the means...

And he could not tell Ron and Hermione; Ron would panic and Hermione would insist he practice Occlumency again. And Harry could not tell them that he needed the connection to remain open, that it was somehow vital to finding Ginny...

Footsteps were pounding up the stairs, toward the door; Harry dragged himself upright with his hand on the edge of his bed as Ron and Hermione burst into the dormitory, their eyes wide.

" We heard you yell." Hermione explained quickly. " Harry, are you alright?"

" Yeah...bad dream." He said hollowly.

Hermione did not look convinced, but Ron, seeming oblivious, offered something to Harry with a slight smile.

" Just got this from Dobby...he wanted to see you, but we said you'd gone to bed...looks like it's from Dumbledore!"

Harry took the roll of parchment with sudden excitement that made his vision seem pale and insignificant by comparison. He read the familiar, slanting words with feverish haste, as though he would memorize them by heart,

_Harry,_

_The occasion we spoke of during your party is at last drawing nigh. The pieces are beginning to fit together. If you will join me in my office tomorrow night, we will embark on our journey together._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

" _Yes!_" Harry hissed. " Excellent, it won't stop us going to Hagrid's, and I can finally find out what he was on about during my birthday..."

" Great, Harry, but listen." Ron looked suddenly anxious. " I wanted to ask you...Quidditch tryouts, when're you...?"

" This weekend." Harry said decisively as he stuffed the scrap of paper into his trunk; he felt very in the mood for making decisions, mostly to keep his mind from his strange vision. " I'll have to tell Katie...and Dean, and Seamus..."

" Right." Ron said brightly. " Well, we'd better get down to the Hall, Dobby let slip they're making goulash for dinner..."

Hermione gave Harry a very long, searching look as they left the dormitory; Harry ignored her dutifully, engaging Ron in Quidditch talk, and they talked animatedly all the way down to the Great Hall, where Neville and Dean were telling the others about the Simargl; Seamus, Lavender, and Parvati in particular looked extremely envious, as though they wished they had not dropped the class after all, and Harry felt quiet pride in Hagrid as he took his seat.

They ate amidst festive talk and a good deal of plate-clanging, lip-smacking, and the like. Harry did not speak at all, instead wondering after the meaning of his vision...

It was only during the dessert that Harry felt the pain in his scar returning; and it was with trepidation that he bit down on his tongue to hold his voice at bay, and sat stiffly straight, allowing himself to be pulled back into Voldemort's mind...

It was nothing of grand importance; only the feeling of something gliding across his shoulders, and the cold, clear voice echoing in his head.

" Soon, Nagini...soon you will feed..."

Someone had been sentence to their death.


	16. The Ways of Breaking

* * *

Chapter XVI: The Ways of Breaking

* * *

The night passed in a strange, dragging lull, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the majority of it sitting around the fire not talking to each other. The common room had cleared out exceptionally early, leaving the three to themselves, waiting anxiously for midnight to come.

Harry's scar was still prickling, and he felt clammy and cold. Only the knowledge that he was going to see Hagrid again very soon...possibly learn what had made Hagrid so unwilling to be friendly with them in class...kept him sane. He was still highly disturbed by his strange vision...still thinking of what Voldemort had said, wondering what his enemy could possibly be doing...

Ron, who was lying on his side before the fire, reading the assigned chapter in their Care of Magical Creatures course, checked his watch, then sat up, snapped the book shut, and yawned.

" One hour." He told Harry and Hermione, who both nodded tensely; Hermione was pouring feverishly over her History of Magic book again, and her fervor drew Harry slightly from his own troubled thoughts.

" I never thought I'd see the day when _you_ would write in your books, Hermione." He said, grinning broadly and gesturing to the scribbles in the margins.

" If it's important enough and I haven't got any scrap parchment, then sacrifices have to be made." Hermione replied absently. " Oh, I do wish you two would come with me to the library..."

" We can." Harry interrupted, struck with a sudden blaze of daring. " Tonight, after we get back from Hagrid's."

Hermione looked up, her expression horrified.

" Harry, no, you didn't sleep at all last night, I shouldn't have asked..."

" I'm used to not sleeping, remember?" Harry tapped himself on the temple as he said it. " I can adjust again.  
" I...I don't know...are you sure? Ron, what do you think?" Hermione looked down at Ron, who had flung himself onto the rug before the hearth with one arm shielding his eyes. He looked up as Hermione spoke his name.

" I'm with Harry." He said at once. " Maybe now we'll be able to find out what's wrong with Fred, and Mum and Dad can cure him..."

" I...well...oh, very _well_!" Hermione snapped the book shut. " Let's go to Hagrid's _now_, though, I'm tired of sitting around waiting, eleven o' clock is a perfectly reasonable time to pay Hagrid a visit...come on, you two!" And she leaped to her feet and stalked toward the portrait hole.

Ron and Harry exchanged wide-eyed glances.

" First she bites our heads off for not going to the library." Ron whispered. " Then she gets shirty with us when we agree! Woman's bloody mental!"

Harry smiled, and shook his head.

" Wait here, I'll be right back."

It was easy enough to sneak into the dormitory, retrieve his cloak, and return to the common room; Dean, Seamus, and Neville were too deeply asleep already to notice Harry's or Ron's absences. Joining Ron and Hermione outside the portrait hole, Harry shook out the invisibility cloak and flung it over their heads.

For a moment they rustled about beneath its folds and tried to fit comfortably into it. Harry felt a strange pang as he realized that it was no longer in any way easy for them to fit under the cloak together, and he found himself longing for the days when they had been three very small, very hapless children who would sneak from the castle on a whim, utterly invisible, safe from prying eyes.

The trio shuffled awkwardly down the staircase, through the halls, and out the front doors. Harry felt a surge of relief as they escaped onto the grounds, though this was coupled by a strange sense of wariness that was born of somewhat lax security; why had Gareth allowed the front doors to be left unbolted after curfew?

It was odd, but Harry did not dwell on it; instead he fixed his eyes on the bright lights shining from the windows of Hagrid's hut, and strode purposefully toward them, Ron and Hermione hurrying along at his side.

They reached the stoop of Hagrid's house within minutes, and Harry knocked sharply, twice, pulling the cloak off as he did so.

The door flew inward almost at once, and Hagrid stood before them, looking slightly wild-eyed, an expression that faded to surprise, and then, to reproach as he saw them standing there, shivering on his doorstep.

" I thought I told yeh ter come at midnigh'!" Hagrid barked.

" Well, we're here now, so unless you'd like us to leave and come back later..." Hermione said frostily; she was rubbing her arms very hard.

Hagrid blinked at her; his mouth moved soundlessly, and then he shook his great bearded head.

" Alrigh', you three, come inside."

They obeyed gratefully, stepping into the toasty warmth of Hagrid's familiar hut; they didn't hesitate, but went at once to the table where four large mugs and a kettle of tea had been placed, and sat in their usual seats. Hagrid joined them, looking anxiously over his shoulder, and Fang, Hagrid's enormous boarhound, gamboled around Harry, Ron, and Hermione's chairs, trying to lick their faces.

" What's going on, Hagrid?" Harry asked, thinking it best to go straight to the point. " You've been avoiding us for two days and you acted like you hardly knew us in class early today...now you're acting like everything's normal again..."

" It ain't normal, you three, it's anythin' but." Hagrid looked over his shoulder again, his hand slightly atremble as he poured them all tea. " Yeh see, this new _High Inquisitor_...Vincent Gareth...'e's nothin' but trouble, 'e is, and 'e doesn't take kind like to students and teachers being too friendly."

" So you're trying to protect yourself?" Ron sounded very indignant. Hagrid's eyes widened.

" Blimey, Ron, use yer 'ead!" He said in a carrying whisper. " It'd be bad enough for you three, havin' your bad record an' all, and it wouldn' 'elp you, 'avin a half-giant for a friend!"

" So you're trying to protect us?" Hermione demanded.

" If Vincent Gareth finds ou' how close you three are to the Professors... 'specially you, Harry, bein' in Dumbledore's good graces an' all...Gareth'll be on you like feathers on a hippogriff, tryin' to find some way to keep yeh _away _from Dumbledore, like. He's not one for teachers and students bein' friendly with each other, Vincent thinks it's s'posed to be all formal..."

" So _that's _why you wanted us to be so...er...respectful in class." Harry murmured, speaking to his cup of tea without looking up at Hagrid. " You were afraid Gareth would see it..."

" And try ter keep me away from yeh, Harry, righ'." Hagrid nodded quickly, his beard trembling. " Bes' play by 'is rules for now, 'til Dumbledore finds someone to replace him...'course, the Ministry migh' not let him sack Gareth, even if they said all Dumbledore'd have to do was find someone else for the job..."

They sat in still silence for a time, drinking their tea and not speaking; Harry was thinking of what Lupin had told him, about keeping on eye on Hagrid this year...

" Hagrid." Harry spoke suddenly. " Can I see your right arm?"

" Wha'?" Hagrid blinked as though surfacing from a light slumber, and then he looked confused. " Righ', Harry, I s'pose..."

Harry's relief was almost overwhelming as he gazed down at Hagrid's burly forearms and realized there was no brand on the sunburned flesh. For now, at least, he remained unmarked.

" Okay, thanks, Hagrid."

For the next few hours Hagrid caught them up on all that was happening behind the scenes of Hogwarts and with the Order of the Phoenix; Harry half-hoped that Hagrid, who had a habit of saying a bit too much at times, would let slip what the Order was guarding, but Hagrid steered so perfectly clear of that particular topic, Harry didn't wonder that he was trying his best not to reveal anything forbidden. Despite this disappointment, the tension between them all thawed very quickly, and by the third mug of tea Hagrid was regaling them with jokes he had recently heard from travelers in Hogsmeade, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were spitting up their drinks with laughter.

It was nearly one thirty when the joviality of the occasion lapsed into sleepy semi-silence, and, though Harry wanted nothing more than to stay in the cozy, warm hut and talk with Hagrid for hours on end, a prickling of anxious awareness was warning him that their time was running short...they would have to return to the castle, hasten to the library, retrieve the necessary book, and then escape...

Hagrid blinked as Harry rose, motioning Ron and Hermione to join him.

" Wha', you're leavin' already?" It was hard to miss the disappointment in Hagrid's voice. " Ar, it's hard, not bein' able to be friendly in, yeh know, public with you three..."

" We'll come down for tea again soon, Hagrid, I promise." Hermione said, patting his large hand reassuringly. " We'll come down so often, in fact, you'll probably get tired of us..."

" Don' hold yer breath for tha', Hermione." Hagrid warned with a light-hearted chuckle. " Righ' good of you ter come down an' all, though...way I was treatin' yeh today, I 'spected yeh'd refuse..."

" Don't forget, Harry's got this habit of seeing the good in people who're acting like complete prats." Ron said with a smile. " Anyway...thanks for the tea, Hagrid...see you around..."

They said their farewells, ducked back under the cloak, and left the warm hut for the chilly night.

" I'm glad we know, at least." Hermione whispered as they made their way up the lawn, toward the castle. " Even if it doesn't change anything essentially, it's good to know...to know _why _Hagrid was being so...so rude during classes today..."

" Did you hear him, though?" Ron demanded furiously. " He's scared of Gareth! He doesn't want to get sacked and he doesn't want us to get in trouble, but blimey, he shouldn't be _afraid_..."

" Everyone's scared, Ron." Harry interrupted quietly. " People always get scared when the world's changing."

They walked in silence the rest of the way up to the school, and then Hermione threw out her arm, and both Ron and Harry halted beside her, just inside the foyer of the castle. Hermione turned very awkwardly beneath the cloak. In the semi-darkness, broken only by the flickering of the candelabras strung up on the walls, Harry could see that Hermione's eyes were steely.

" Alright." She hissed. " We've got to get into the library without being seen..."

" Genius." Ron commented, rolling his eyes.

" And," Hermione plowed on as though he had not spoken, " We also need to find what we're looking for without taking the book _out _of the library."

" Why?" Harry demanded. " We didn't get in trouble for stashing it last time!"

" Last time, Harry, students couldn't be expelled for having Dark objects in their possession, and a book that gruesome might count as such!" Hermione replied shrilly, glaring at him. " We've got to think this out, and the pair of you are being very dense about it all. We'll have to find what we need to know, and fast, and _memorize _it, so we don't have to go back again tomorrow night..."

" Alright, alright, can we just get _on?_" Ron demanded irritably. " My back's killing me..."

" Right." Hermione lifted her chin, turned and strode down the hall; Harry and Ron stumbled to keep up with her all the way to the library, outside of which they briefly paused. Then Hermione took a deep breath and elbowed the door inward; it swung forward to herald them without a sound.

Harry had only visited the library this late once before, and the sense of eeriness had not faded in the last six years. Each towering shelf, riddled with books, seemed to conceal a palpable, animate secret in its shadow. Harry shivered, and jumped slightly as Hermione's arm brushed his.

" Oh, for goodness sake, Harry, they're only books..." Hermione hissed crossly.

" Yeah, until they bite your hand off or possess your soul." Ron put in. " We're going in the Restricted Section, Hermione, it's not off limits for nothing..."

They reached the back of the library, and Hermione ducked from beneath the cloak at once with a whispered, " You stay here!" Harry and Ron happily obliged, peering beyond the misty folds of the cloak, watching for any sort of approach through the towering shelves all around...

Hermione joined them again within minutes, this time toting a large book under her arm; the trio retreated to the dark, silent tables in the center of the library, and Hermione lit one of the lanterns as Ron and Harry sat on either side of her, pulling the cloak off as they did so. With the warm glow brushing their faces and piercing the darkness by a token amount, Hermione brushed off the face of the book and shifted it into the glow of the lantern.

Ron's exultant, expectant face fell as he read the title.

" Blimey, I'd forgotten..._Moste Potent Potions?_" He looked unequivocally disappointed. " Hermione, Fred was cursed, not poisoned or...or whatever else. How's this going to help us?

" Because, Ron." Hermione looked triumphant. " It's not what _this _book says, it's what another does..."

She flipped open the front cover, revealing the peeling first page.

" I've been trying for weeks to remember where I'd read about a curse that would initiate Fred's symptoms. I couldn't remember the title of the book...but then I remembered, the day we got _this_ book from the library, I was flipping through it, and..." As she spoke, Hermione tugged back the peeling corner of the inside cover. " There was a tiny reference inside."

Harry and Ron leaned around her shoulders to stare at the minute script penned underneath the peeling corner; it was easily recognized as a book title.

" _Moste Corrupt Curses?" _Harry read aloud. " That doesn't sound good..."

" It's the second volume." Hermione explained, closing the book. " I just couldn't remember the title...I knew I'd read it somewhere...anyway, I'll go find it now..."

She got to her feet and hurried away. Harry and Ron exchanged a loaded glance, and Ron leaned forward to whisper, " Dunno why Hermione's reading up on corrupting curses..."

" Because, Ron." Hermione had joined them again almost as quickly as she had departed, and seemed to catch Ron's words, because she looked very haughty again as she sat down on the bench. " I was in the library the day I found out about the Basilisk, as I'm sure you _well _remember, and I was looking for something to help kill it...I thought a dark curse might work..."

She set the second volume down before them; Harry's eyes scanned the title quickly, and then Hermione was flipping to the index to find whatever curse she was looking for. Ron got to his feet and began to prowl a large circle around the table, keeping watch for any sort of approach. Harry tried to read over Hermione's shoulder, then gave up as she began flicking through the pages too quickly for his eyes to follow.

Nearly fifteen minutes later—Harry's nerves felt extremely taut and his head was aching—Hermione slammed her fist down on the musty pages.

" Yes!" She said in an exultant whisper.

" What?" Ron came to join them at once, and bent over the book beside Harry as Hermione leaned low and began to read in a soft, victorious voice.

" _Minuo __Infinitum_, or the Curse of Endless Bloodshed, was outlawed at the turn of the nineteenth century by the then newly formed Wizengamot; only its lack of use prevented it from being named Unforgivable. It is a curse most ferocious, as it can only be performed by an extremely talented Dark wizard and is therefore difficult to counter. _Minuo Infinitum _is an all-consuming curse that draws the bewitched through phases of irreversible bleeding from the mouth, nose, and occasionally ears and other orifices. Though the victim may appear to mend on their own, this is rarely the case; only one victim in history has been reported to have recovered from the curse on his own."

Hermione paused for a moment, drawing in a deep breath.

" Keep reading." Harry urged.

" Companion symptoms to _Minuo Infinitum _are prolonged weakness, highly impairing exhaustion, loss of appetite, and, as more and more blood is shed, prolonged lapses in sanity." Hermione's voice trembled. " The only known countercurse is '_Refero Salus'_, the restoration of health, which can be performed only by a powerful wizard of Light whose powers would rival those of the curse-caster's..."

Hermione's voice trailed away, and she, Harry, and Ron exchanged long looks.

" Is that it?" Hermione asked at length.

" Sounds like it." Ron's voice was strained with excitement. " We've got to tell Dumbledore...and Mum and Dad..."

" We can send Hedwig." Harry interrupted, feeling a burst of excitement fizzing in his chest. " And tomorrow night, when I meet with Dumbledore, I can ask him...

" That's settled, then!" Hermione said, with a broad smile, and she leaped to her feet, embraced Harry and Ron both quickly, then dashed to replace the book. Ron stared after her, shaking his head.

" She's something else." He muttered. " She might've just saved Fred's life..."

Upon Hermione's return, the three wasted no time in hurrying from the library, through the deserted corridors and up to Gryffindor Tower; there was a nasty moment when one shadow on the wall seemed to move in a very catlike fashion, making Harry wonder if they had been scented by Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, but the shadow turned out to be made from the edge of the cloak shifting with Ron's step instead.

They tumbled through the portrait hole in a gasping heap, having run the last several yards to safety. Harry found himself laughing as he disentangled himself from Ron and Hermione and staggered to his feet, clutching the stitch in his side. Hermione was the next to rise, and then Ron, who placed a hand to his back and winced as he got to his feet. Harry led the way over to the fire, where he sat in one chair, Hermione in the other, and Ron sat before the fire, picked up the book he had discarded hours before, and pulling a scrap piece of parchment from the midway point of the pages.

" I'll find my place again later." He muttered distractedly, and then he hurried to the table in the far corner of the room to fetch a quill; when he returned, he was already writing feverishly.

Harry watched as Ron wrote and Hermione, still smiling, welcomed the recently-appeared Crookshanks into her lap, and as a drowsy lull washed over him Harry felt the need to say something...

" My scar hurt again today, right after Care of Magical Creatures."

Ron's hand stilled on the parchment and Hermione glanced up from Crookshanks's ugly, squashed face.

" Did you...did you see anything?" Ron asked at once, his voice very soft and hopeful. " About...you know...Ginny?"

" No." Harry shook his head, frustrated. " But...I was there, I was in Voldemort's head...he was talking to Nott and Avery, and he said...he said he was weaker, only he was still really...happy...and then again, at dinner, I heard him. He said he was going to let his snake, Nagini, feed..."

Hermione shuddered.

" Harry...your Occlumency..."

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration.

" I _know_, Hermione, okay?" He snapped. " But this...connection between me and Voldemort might be the only thing that'll help us get Ginny back. As long as there's that chance, I can't try to close it. Try to understand..."

" I understand perfectly." Hermione said, her tone icy. " I understand that you're gambling your life, and possibly the lives of others as well, on the possibility that Ginny isn't dead and that you can somehow save her. But Harry, if Ginny were here, she would be saying the same thing...she'd want you to guard your mind..."

" But Ginny's not here, Voldemort's got her, and I can't just sit by and do nothing!" Harry said, his voice rising. " I'm not just going to let her die, Hermione!"

" Harry, I told you this just before we went to the Department of Mysteries..._nothing _is more important than you learning to close your mind, it's vital, it's _everything_, you can't..."

But Harry had heard enough. He got to his feet, kicked his chair roughly aside, and stormed from the common room, leaving Hermione slack-jawed midsentence, Ron still looking between them with a stunned expression.

Harry kicked off his shoes, stuffed the invisibility cloak back into his trunk, and changed into his pajamas in a whirl of fury; he hardly ever rowed with Hermione, and it made him feel very ill, though not so much so that he could simply return to the common room and make up with her. Her blatant disregard for Ginny's fate in favor of protecting his own mind made Harry boiling mad, and he lay down atop his covers, fuming, and stared at the ceiling without really seeing it. The bracelet beat against his wrist like a second heartbeat, but it did not calm him...he felt wide-awake, his heart pounding, his mind racing...

It was nearly a half hour later when Ron came up to bed; he was clutching the scrap of parchment in his hand and looked very worried. Harry did not acknowledge him, instead listening in silence as Ron shuffled about, changed into his pajamas, and lay down. Within minutes, he was snoring.

Harry rolled onto his side, wishing he could sleep; even with having gone an entire busy day on no sleep whatsoever, he was not tired...

When he closed his eyes, a discordant pattern of images flashed behind Harry's lids; the brand on Lupin's arm, Hagrid's anxious face, the majestic Simargl, Voldemort's long-fingered hands twirling his wand, Ginny's face as he had last seen it, pale and unconscious...

Rolling again onto his back, Harry focused his drifting mind on a single thing; counting his breaths, then his heartbeats, then the warm pulsing of the bracelet against his wrist. He felt himself gradually relaxing, forgetting his row with Hermione, and at last, finally, he fell to sleep.

His dreams that night, however, were not peaceful; he dreamed that he was standing with Ron and Hermione in the common room, and they were having a blazing row...Hermione was insisting that Harry use the _Minuo Infinitum _curse on Ginny, but Ron was protesting and Harry refused to do it...he turned to leave, only to find that he was standing, not in the common room, but rather at the bottom of the Black Lake, and Vincent Gareth, half-Transfigured into a shark, swam toward him and began to beat him with the copy of _Moste Corrupt Curses_, which opened gashes on his back that read '_Close You Mind_'; instead of blood, however, his wounds oozed the pale, silvery mist form that memories took when placed in a Pensive...and always in the background there was the echo of high, cold laughter...

Harry woke sweating and shaking, tangled in his bed sheets, his glasses askew; bright morning sunlight was filtering into the dormitory, and he could see the others stirring in their beds. He sat up groggily, pushed his glasses back into place, and stretched, yawning hugely, feeling as though he had not slept at all during the night.

Breakfast that morning was a tense affair; Hermione refused to speak to either Harry or Ron, which made Harry wonder what had transpired after he had left the common room the previous night. He had a feeling that, coinciding with his dream, Ron had chosen his side over Hermione's regarding Ginny, and that Hermione had taken great offence at this.

Whatever the case, all of the goodwill feelings between them had faded entirely overnight; when Harry and Ron walked to the Owlrey after breakfast to send Ron's note to his family, Ron seemed very downtrodden indeed.

" At least Wednesday's schedule is easy." Harry attempted to console Ron, though he felt extremely depressed himself. " Transfiguration again, History of Magic, more Charms, and...oh, blimey, Defense classes, too, I'd forgotten." Ron nodded miserably as he tied the letter to Hedwig's leg and sent her on her way.

If there was one thing he truly disliked about sixth year, Harry reflected as they returned to the castle, it was how different their schedule was from those of the previous terms; though they had, admittedly, far less classes to take, the ones that they _had _chosen to continue were repeated every other day, and on Fridays, according to Harry's schedule, they had a very full day with reviews on all of the week's classes; thankfully, however, Fridays ended rather early, just after lunch. Busy, but the torture would not be prolonged.

Hermione continued to ignore them both throughout their morning lessons, and by the time Charms had ended Harry was beginning to feel a strong sense of déjà-vu to their third year; Hermione was cold-shouldering them just as she had done then, and straight before Harry's eyes, it seemed, Ron was lapsing in a very surly disposition to counter Hermione's chilly indifference.

" Dunno why she's got to be so cold about it." He muttered to Harry as Flitwick crossed the room, collecting their homework from the previous lesson. " I mean, _she's _the one who wants to just forget about Ginny, what'd she think we'd do, just stand by and..."

" No talking, Mister Weasley!" Flitwick interrupted sternly. " I don't see you charming your quill yet!"

Ron made a rude gesture beneath the desk, but fell silent. Harry hid his face in his course book and pretended not to notice the reproving glare Hermione shot him from across the table.

Lunch was, if anything, downright miserable; Ron and Hermione were still glaring at each other, and Harry—who had gotten over his anger during morning classes and would have liked to have put the whole argument behind them—tried fruitlessly to get them both to make up. In the end, he wondered why he was even bothering; Hermione, as usual, was abstinently certain she was right, and Ron's loyalty to his family had won out over his fear of Harry being possessed by Voldemort...something Harry could not blame him for.

Ron's entire demeanor changed as they left the Great Hall after lunch and headed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom; growing exceptionally pale, Ron seemed to be trying to blend into the background behind Harry and Hermione. Harry thought it was a bit of a low blow that Hermione kept dodging out from in front of him, and finally, he decided to simply leave them to their silent war for the upper hand. Neville did not ask why Harry sat with him in the back of the class today, and for that, Harry was grateful.

There was no humming of conversation permeating the air of the classroom; Gryffindors and Slytherins alike sat in anxious silence, exchanging glances with their fellow classmates. Pansy Parkinson shrank into Malfoy's shadow and Zabini, whose arm was still in a sling, slid low into his seat. Neville was trembling and Ron's head was so low it nearly touched the desk.

Hot anger pulsed through Harry at the sight of their fear; Gareth had gotten what he wanted at least, he had broken at least some of the class to his will...

As though summoned by Harry's dark thoughts, Gareth entered from the private chambers at the back of the classroom; his bright red robes swirled impressively as he glided to the front of the class and stood facing them, much as he had during the previous class; several of the students shied convulsively.

" It seems," Gareth began, his tone icy. " That someone spoke to our dear Headmaster of my teaching methods. It seems that student...whoever he or she is...does not _approve _of my teaching methods. I find this rather amusing, as I am the teacher and you are the students, and it is not your jurisdiction to decide what is appropriate in this class. _However_."

As Gareth spoke, he walked around the edge of his desk and began to pace before them, his cold eyes sweeping the room.

" However, the Minister believes that perhaps a bit of leniency would be acceptable. I find this to be a show of the Minister's few faults but that, regardless, is beside the point." He halted before the dark-board, surveyed them all, then spoke again, calmly, " You should be thankful that only one of you was forced to serve the most effective form of detention."

Harry saw that Ron was glaring furiously at Hermione, who was staring resolutely at Gareth; her bushy brown hair was hanging between her and Ron, and Harry had a feeling she had moved it just so on purpose; the tension between them was nearly palpable.

" Therefore." Gareth went on, resuming his pacing now. " As your lesson for today, you will each demonstrate for me the proper use of a Patronus Charm."

Several of the Slytherins drew in harsh breaths; Dean Thomas, two rows away from Harry, turned to wink at him. Harry smiled back, feeling relieved; at least a handful of Gryffindor students in this class had attended the D.A. meetings the previous term, in which Harry had taught them all the Patronus charm...they would face little trouble on that front. The Slytherins, however, looked incredibly nervous, and Pansy raised her hand.

" Yes, Miss Parkinson?" Gareth fixed his chilly eyes on her. Shivering slightly, Pansy swallowed very hard before answering.

" Sir, we read about the Patronus Charm in our course book last year and it's supposed to be extremely advanced magic, only really powerful wizards are supposed to be able to..."

" And how, Miss Parkinson, do you intend to combat the Dark Arts if you are not yourself a power wizard?" Gareth asked quietly. " I do not expect any of you to produce anything near to a corporeal Patronus...I do, however, expect you to demonstrate the theory. Surely you are accomplished enough to do _that_?"

Looking mortified, Pansy nodded, and Gareth turned away.

" Very well. Let's see..." He resumed his pacing again, his eyes sweeping the classroom. " Ah, yes...Mister Thomas, you did not fail with the shield charm yesterday, in spite of your slightly...ah.._.tainted _bloodlines.. Let's see your hand at this."

Dean looked slightly nervous as he got to his feet and came to stand before Gareth; Gareth motioned, and Dean drew his wand. Taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes, he cried, " _Expecto Patronum_!_"_

Perhaps his thought was not happy enough; perhaps Gareth's cold, unfeeling presence beside him staggered his confidence. Whatever the reason, Dean's Patronus seemed to simply drip from his wand and dissolve almost at once.

Gareth's brows rose slightly, and he shook his head.

" Pathetic." He hissed. " Pathetic. Back to your seat, Thomas. _Potter_!"

Harry, whose anger at Gareth was mounting for his insults to Dean, leaped slightly as his name was called.

" Yes?"

" To the front!"

Harry rose obediently; Ron looked around at him, offering him a smile that was more of a grimace. Hermione did not look up.

Harry stood before the class feeling himself flushing with embarrassment at the memory of when he had last stood there; he heard Malfoy give a sharp shout of derisive laughter as Harry drew his wand, fumbling it slightly as he did so. Gareth's eyes followed the motion, and he smiled coolly.

" Well, Potter. A Patronus, if you can."

Harry nodded slightly, then closed his eyes and tried to think of it...a happy memory, something that would fuel his Patronus so that it would shock Gareth...something powerfully wonderful...

But all he could think of was the shame on Dean's face, the scars on Ron's back, and the cold animosity that hung between his two best friends. That was not happiness...it was hopelessness, despair, as though a bit of his soul was dying...his hand was shaking...he was going to break the promise he had made to himself, the vow to do his best in Gareth's class...

_Promise_. The word stilled the chaos in his brain. _A promise is a promise_.

He remembered the way he had felt when he had woken in the hospital wing and heard Sirius's voice, proving him alive, and when Ginny had looked at him the next day with brown eyes warm and bright and full of triumph...

The words leaped from his lips as a shout.

" _Expecto Patronum!_"

The enormous stag burst from the tip of his wand, careered around the room, then leaped gracefully upwards, dissolving through the window.

Silence hung over the assembled; Gareth's eyes roved over Harry, calculating.

" Well, well. Return to your seat, Potter."

Harry felt the happiness inside of him deflate; Gareth had not acknowledged his success at all, he had disregarded it completely, in fact...

Burning with anger, Harry returned to sit beside Neville, who patted his shoulder sympathetically, but said nothing.

In the end, Harry, Seamus, and Hermione were the only ones who managed to produce a corporeal Patronus. Parvati and Lavender both stumbled over the spell, and Ron was obviously far too angry to claim a happy thought. It was only the utter failure of the Slytherins that brightened Harry's mood, and when Harry, Seamus, and Hermione were told they would not have to do the night's homework, his elation grew.

" Writing a whole essay on the theory of the Patronus charm?" Neville said anxiously as they packed up after class. " I'll never be able to do it..."

" Yeah, you will." Harry assured him distractedly; he saw Hermione hurrying from the classroom, Ron right on her heels, his face very red with anger. " Listen, Neville, I'll talk to you later..."

Harry elbowed his way through the crowd to find his best friends.

Unfortunately, he did not reach them quickly enough; they were in a deserted classroom just off the hallway having a shouting match.

" You ratted to Dumbledore!" Ron was saying furiously as Harry entered and shut the door behind him; neither of them seemed to notice his presence. " That's where you went after breakfast! You were telling him about my detention!"

" Of course I did, Ron, are you mad? You were bleeding and someone has to stop Gareth..." Hermione shot right back, her voice high-pitched with anger.

" Right, and now Gareth thinks I'm a prat who needs someone else to tell tales on him!" Ron looked downright livid. " I didn't need your help, Hermione, just stay out of it for once!"

" Fine!" Hermione shrieked tearfully. " Fine, Ron, suffer if you want to, I couldn't care less! You're so stubborn and arrogant and selfish!"

" Selfish?" Ron's eyes were sparking with rage; Harry could only stare at them both, stunned. " _Selfish_? You seemed pretty damned grateful when I stuck up for you in class the other day! You remember how I got these scars, Hermione? Because I wouldn't hurt _you!_"

" You are hurting me, but you don't get it, do you, you're just being stupid, I was only trying to help..."

_" I don't need help,_ you idiot Mudblood!"

Ron seemed to realize in an instant that he had gone too far, that his furious slip of the tongue had cost him possibly more than could ever be repaid; Hermione's eyes flew wide and in her shock, she stopped crying. The color drained from Ron's face. Harry felt clammy all over.

" Shit." Ron hissed, and he stepped forward. " No, Hermione, I didn't mean to...wait, Hermione!"

For without a word Hermione turned and strode blindly for the door. Instinctively, Harry moved to bar her way.

Hermione stopped in front of him, and their eyes met; Harry could see that the blank, shocked look in Hermione's eyes was hiding immeasurable pain and great, boiling rage.

" Hermione, wait. Hear Ron out." Harry pleaded, seeing that Ron was still frozen, shocked by his own stupidity.

" Get out of my way, Harry." Hermione said, very calmly.

" Hermione, please, just wait, he didn't mean..."

But that was all Harry managed to say, because at that moment Hermione reared back her fist and punched him straight in the nose; Harry staggered, and Hermione pushed past him, fleeing with a sob floating on the air behind her.

Rubbing his aching face, Harry looked after her, then around at Ron.

Ron had fallen to his knees on the cold stone floor and buried his face in one hand.

" What did I just _do_?"

Knowing that he would never be able to console Ron, Harry left the classroom; he did not follow Hermione, however. Instead he walked straight to the empty common room, sat in one of the deserted armchairs , and stared unseeingly into the fire.

He was thinking, not of Ron and Hermione, but of his mother.

Once upon a time, Lily Evans had stuck up for a hated boy named Severus Snape; Harry did not know what had compelled his mother, what had driven her compassion, but the price she had paid for it had been to be insulted then just as Ron had insulted Hermione mere minutes ago.

Harry wondered how his mother had felt, being treated so in front of all of her friends and classmates; he wondered how much worse it would have been if the person insulting her had been one of her best friends.

Leaning forward until his forehead touched his knees, Harry shivered convulsively.

Something had broken today that he was not sure could ever be mended.


End file.
